“Beneath the Willow Tree”Chapter One: The First Glance part 2
1087 Words
Chapter One (continued)
The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting golden light through the leaves of the willow tree. Shadows stretched across the field like reaching fingers, but neither Noah nor Elena moved. The air was still, suspended in that fragile space between past and present.
She clutched the weathered notebook to her chest.
“I don’t even know what to say,” Elena whispered, afraid that if she spoke too loudly, the spell would break and the moment would vanish.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Noah said softly. “I just wanted you to know I never forgot.”
Elena looked at him, really looked—his features more mature, his jaw more defined, and yet something familiar still flickered in his eyes. He was older, yes, but the way he tilted his head, the way his brow furrowed when he was trying to understand her—that was still Noah.
“Do you want to sit?” he asked, motioning to the base of the tree.
She nodded, and they both sank down into the grass, back against the trunk, shoulder to shoulder. For a while, they didn’t talk. They didn’t need to.
The tree remembered them.
“Do you remember that summer?” Noah finally asked.
Elena laughed gently. “How could I forget? You got me to skip my first class ever. My mother nearly lost her mind.”
“I think she still doesn’t forgive me for that.”
“She doesn’t,” Elena said with a smile, then paused. “But she also still keeps the photo of us on the mantle.”
Noah turned his head to look at her. “The one where you’re painting my face with strawberries?”
“That’s the one.”
He chuckled. “You were relentless that day.”
“You let me.”
“You made me laugh,” he said, quieter now. “You always did.”
Elena felt something tighten in her chest. “I needed that laughter more than you knew.”
They fell into silence again, this time heavy with memory.
Elena pulled the notebook open again. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why did you never call? Or email? Or… anything?”
Noah ran a hand through his hair. “I did. For months. Maybe a year. But you didn’t answer. Eventually, I figured maybe I’d just been a chapter in your story. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to follow you to the next one.”
Elena looked away, blinking fast.
“It wasn’t that,” she said. “I was scared. New York was so big, and everything moved so fast. I thought if I looked back, I’d fall apart. I thought you deserved someone braver.”
“You think I needed brave?” he said. “I needed you. That girl who stood in the rain and asked if I was painting or hiding. That girl who could turn a quiet moment into a memory.”
She swallowed hard, emotions caught in her throat.
“I still think about that summer,” Noah continued. “Every time it rains.”
Elena looked up at the sky, painted in hues of orange and purple. “What are the odds we’d meet again like this?”
“Maybe not odds,” Noah said, “Maybe hope.”
She met his eyes. “And what happens now?”
“That depends,” he said. “Are you still running?”
Elena bit her lip, looking out toward the town where old friends lived and the life she left behind waited.
“I think I’m tired of running.”
Later That Evening
The Carter house hadn’t changed much in the ten years Elena had been away. The floral wallpaper still adorned the kitchen walls, and the brass-framed photos still lined the hallway, including one of her with braces and oversized glasses, grinning wide.
Her mother returned from the florist with arms full of lilacs and peonies, startled to find Elena sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of chamomile tea.
“You’re home,” she said softly, her voice catching in her throat.
Elena stood and hugged her tightly. “I’m home.”
They didn’t talk much that night—just shared a quiet dinner of roasted chicken and her mother’s famous honey cornbread. But the silence was comfortable, the kind only possible between people who had known each other a lifetime.
Later, in bed, Elena stared at the ceiling. The notebook lay beside her, and she opened it again. Page after page of Noah’s sketches filled the room with memories. Her face laughing. Her silhouette under the tree. Even the rain—he had captured it so perfectly it almost shimmered off the page.
She traced a finger over a note he’d scribbled on a torn page:
“If you ever find this, it means you came back. And if you came back… I’m still waiting.”
Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
The Next Morning
The morning air was crisp, the scent of dew and lilacs clinging to everything. Elena dressed in soft denim and a white blouse, pulled her hair into a loose braid, and headed toward the town square.
She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but something in her heart told her she’d know when she saw it.
And she did.
Noah, again, was set up near the fountain—his easel facing the bakery, his eyes scanning the crowd for something only he could see. His hand moved with purpose, brushing light and color onto the canvas.
Elena approached quietly.
“What are you painting today?” she asked.
Noah smiled without turning. “The moment just before everything changes.”
She tilted her head. “That’s very specific.”
He looked at her now. “That’s because you’re in it.”
Elena laughed, and it was the kind of laugh she hadn’t heard from herself in years.
“Do you still have your sketchpad?” he asked.
She blinked. “I haven’t drawn since college.”
“Well,” he said, reaching into his bag and handing her a clean one. “Maybe it’s time.”
Elena took it slowly, flipping through the blank pages. Her fingers itched with the urge to create again.
“Let’s draw,” he said simply.
And under the soft sun, surrounded by strangers and a town that remembered, they began again.
[To be continued…]
- Writer
