Ethan couldn’t stop staring at the book.
It sat on his desk, its leather cover cracked and worn, the faint scent of old paper and earth still clinging to it. The pages were thick and yellowed, filled with spidery script that seemed to twist and shift under his gaze. It felt alive.
He flipped through the first few pages, frustration mounting. The language was unfamiliar, the symbols etched into the margins like they were part of some forgotten ritual. What was this thing, and why had it been buried beneath his oak tree?
The whispers hadn’t returned since he’d unearthed it, but the memory of them lingered, a haunting echo in his mind. And then there was Lily.
She hadn’t spoken of the book again after her cryptic question the night before, but her eyes had sparkled with something unspoken. She knew more than she let on—of that, Ethan was certain.
That evening, Ethan found himself at the fence again.
Lily was there, waiting, her lantern casting warm light over her auburn hair. She leaned casually against the post, her golden-brown eyes glinting with curiosity.
“Couldn’t resist, could you?” she teased, her lips curving into a knowing smile.
Ethan held up the book. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”
Lily’s gaze flicked to the leather-bound tome, her expression unreadable. “I knew there was something buried beneath that oak. Everyone in town does. They call it the Whispering Tree.”
“And you didn’t think to mention that?”
Her smile widened. “Where’s the fun in telling you everything upfront?”
Ethan stepped closer, holding the book between them. “Then tell me this—what does it say? I can’t read it.”
Lily hesitated, her fingers brushing against the worn cover as if testing its weight. “It’s not about reading it,” she said softly. “It’s about feeling it.”
“What does that even mean?”
She met his gaze, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”
Lily led him through her garden, the path winding toward a clearing surrounded by wildflowers. In the center stood a stone bench, its surface smooth and cool beneath the lantern light. She gestured for him to sit, her expression suddenly serious.
“Place the book on the bench,” she instructed.
Ethan hesitated but did as she asked. The air seemed to grow heavier, the night alive with a quiet energy that prickled along his skin.
Lily knelt beside the bench, her fingers tracing the book’s cover. Her touch was reverent, almost tender, and Ethan couldn’t help but notice the graceful curve of her neck, the way her auburn hair fell over her shoulder.
“Close your eyes,” she said, her voice a soft command.
Ethan obeyed, his breath hitching as her hand brushed against his.
“Listen,” she whispered.
At first, there was only silence. Then, faintly, the whispers returned—soft, insistent, like a secret spoken just for him. They curled around his mind, teasing and tantalizing, until he could almost make out the words.
And then he felt it.
Lily’s fingers grazed his wrist, her touch electrifying. It was subtle, almost accidental, but it sent a jolt through him that he couldn’t ignore. His eyes snapped open to find her watching him, her golden-brown gaze smoldering with an intensity that stole his breath.
“Do you feel it now?” she asked, her voice low and husky.
Ethan swallowed hard, his pulse racing. “I don’t know what I feel.”
Her lips quirked into a small smile, and she leaned closer, her breath warm against his cheek. “You will.”