Whispers of Love

Garden of Us

😼 Author's POV:

Saint's fingers traced the edge of a vibrant hibiscus petal, its surface cool and dewy under his touch. The flower's fiery red hue seemed to glow in the soft morning light, casting tiny shadows on his skin. He lingered there, letting the fragile beauty of the moment wash over him. Time felt slower in the garden, where every leaf, every petal, seemed to hum with life.

"I'd forgotten how beautiful this garden could be," Saint murmured, his voice thick with nostalgia.

Perth stood beside him, his hand warm and firm as it encased Saint's. He looked at Saint with a mix of longing and tenderness. "It missed you," he said softly. "We both did."

The words hung in the air between them, a gentle acknowledgment of everything left unsaid. They began to walk, their steps unhurried, their path meandering through the lush greenery. The garden stretched around them like a living memory, the air heavy with the mingling scents of jasmine, damp soil, and the faint saltiness carried from the sea breeze beyond.

As they paused near a cluster of orchids, Saint closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The orchids were a symphony of white and purple, their blossoms so perfect they seemed unreal.

"Do you remember when we planted these?" Perth asked, his voice light but filled with nostalgia. He gestured to a row of roses standing tall and proud along the garden's edge. Their bright red heads turned skyward, drinking in the sunlight.

Saint chuckled, the sound bright and free for the first time in weeks. "How could I forget? You nearly broke your ankle trying to impress me with your digging skills."

Perth grinned, his laughter echoing in the quiet garden. "Worth it, " he said, pulling Saint closer until their shoulders brushed. "I got the boy, didn't I?"

Saint leaned into him, his heart warming at the memory. Their laughter faded into a comfortable silence as they continued their slow walk. Around them, the garden seemed alive with whispers of their past, every corner holding a fragment of their story. But Saint's mind was far from still. Memories surged like waves, each one crashing into the next, bringing with them the bittersweet ache of love and loss.

"Pin," he said hesitantly, his voice trembling slightly as he used the nickname that carried so much history. "I want to make this work. Really work, this time."

Perth stopped walking, turning to face him fully. His gaze was steady, his eyes searching Saint's face as if trying to memorize every detail. "So do I," he said, his tone unwavering. "No more running. No more fear. We owe it to ourselves to fight for this-to fight for us."

The sincerity in Perth's voice melted the last of Saint's doubts. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility of a future together.

A mischievous glint sparked in Saint's eyes, breaking the tension. "Speaking of which," he said, his tone teasing, "fancy a trip to the market?"

Perth raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a bemused smile. "Now? Don't you think we should savor this moment a little longer?"

Saint shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Why not? Let's celebrate. We can pick up something for others, too."

---

The marketplace was alive with vibrant energy, a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and scents that overwhelmed the senses in the most delightful way. The air buzzed with the chatter of animated vendors hawking their wares, the rhythmic clatter of wooden carts over cobblestone streets, and the occasional melodious notes of a street performer's flute. Stalls lined the narrow paths, each one overflowing with treasures-vivid arrays of fresh produce, handcrafted trinkets, shimmering fabrics, and the tantalizing aroma of spiced meats mingling with the bitter notes of freshly brewed coffee.