“Beneath the Willow Tree” Chapter Three: Pieces of the Past
652 Words
The late September breeze danced through the trees, scattering golden leaves across the porch of The Willow Studio. Elena stood inside, arms crossed, eyes scanning the photographs she’d just mounted on the east wall. Each one was framed in reclaimed wood—small, intimate shots of the town through her lens. The diner sign at dawn. The creek in winter. The old swing at the elementary school.
She was beginning to see the town not just as a place she had come from, but as something worth seeing anew.
Behind her, the door jingled. Noah stepped in, wind-tousled and smiling, two coffees in hand.
“The artist hard at work,” he teased, handing her the cup.
“You laugh, but this took me three hours to level,” she said, pointing to a slightly crooked frame.
Noah tilted his head. “It’s only slightly askew. Adds character.”
They both laughed, falling into the kind of rhythm that had become more familiar in recent weeks. Afternoons painting together. Evenings walking through the orchards or watching old movies on her mother’s couch. It was as if the decade apart had folded in on itself, allowing them to pick up threads they never meant to drop.
But Elena knew life wasn’t just about picking up old threads.
That afternoon, she received a letter.
It was waiting in her mailbox, addressed in sharp, blocky handwriting. No return address.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
"I saw your gallery in the paper. I didn't think you'd come back. I hope you're not forgetting everything you left behind."
No signature.
Elena stared at the words. Her heart pounded.
The past she had outrun was still reaching for her.
She folded the letter and tucked it into a drawer, but her hands trembled.
Noah noticed the change in her mood that evening. They were walking along the river trail, the sky brushed with lavender and rose.
“You okay?” he asked.
Elena hesitated. She wasn’t ready to tell him yet. The letter had shaken something loose.
“Just tired. The open house and setup and everything… I think it’s catching up to me.”
He nodded, but his eyes lingered on her, thoughtful.
Later that night, she pulled an old box from her closet. Inside were remnants of her past: concert tickets, photos from high school, letters she had once written but never sent.
And there, near the bottom, was a faded photograph.
A group of teenagers on a summer afternoon. Elena in the center, laughing. Beside her: Noah. And beside him: Caleb.
Caleb.
She hadn’t thought of him in years.
But now the letter made sense.
The three of them had been inseparable once. Caleb had been Noah’s best friend—and Elena’s first kiss.
She sat on the floor, memories flooding her.
Caleb had always been the wild one. The one who pushed boundaries, who dared them to break rules, to live louder. And he had loved Elena with a fire that scared her even then.
Their falling out had been messy. Caleb had confessed he wanted more. Elena had pulled away. Noah had stepped in.
There were arguments. Silence. A friendship shattered. And then, graduation came. Elena left.
The next morning, she visited the old skate park. It was rusted now, overgrown at the edges. But it had once been their meeting place, their sanctuary.
She sat on the cracked concrete, listening to the wind.
Footsteps approached.
She turned.
Caleb.
Older. Broader. His hair shorter, his eyes still burning with the same intensity.
“I thought it might be you,” he said, hands in his pockets.
Elena rose slowly. “You sent the letter.”
He shrugged. “I needed to know if you remembered. If you regretted anything.”
She looked at him, emotions swirling. “I don’t regret leaving. I regret how we left things.”
Caleb stepped closer.
- Writer
