What the Wind Told the Tree
Shiyaa
What the Wind Told the Tree
3 min read
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1 day ago
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The sky tonight was a sealed envelope — heavy, grey, hiding every star that might have winked down if the clouds had been kinder.
By the riverbank, a girl sat with her friends. The night was alive with laughter, sparklers, and fireworks popping like impatient hearts in the distance. Her friends posed with their blind dates — awkward grins and stolen glances captured on phone screens. She watched them with a soft smile, but never joined, never asked for her turn in the frame. She wasn’t a fan of fireworks. Not the noisy kind, at least. She was an astrophile — a lover of stars, the type of girl who searched for constellations even in people.
Above her, the breeze had begun its gentle rounds. It stirred the trees awake, brushing past them playfully until one curious tree, swaying lazily, whispered to the wind,
“Wind, tell me… why is that girl so still? She seems… boring. Lifeless. Why doesn’t she laugh with her friends? Why didn’t she bring a date like the others? A night like this — how romantic it would be to watch the fireworks together.”
The wind paused. It hushed. Then, in a rising breath, it asked,
“Tree, have you ever seen fireworks?”
The tree chuckled through its leaves,
“Of course! Bursting colors, lustrous lights, endless varieties! You want it? You get it. They’re made for nights like these, for couples to gasp and admire together, aren’t they?”
The wind swirled around the tree’s trunk, a sound like a low laugh curling in the air. Then it stilled, pressing cool kisses against the bark,
“Exactly, Tree. But easy, remember? Fireworks are easy. Easy to find. Easy to light. Easy to fade. They come screaming into the sky, demand your attention… then disappear into smoke before your eyes have even adjusted.”
The tree stilled, its branches caught mid-sway, listening.
“But the stars,”
The wind sighed, brushing leaves with a tenderness,
“They take millions of years to be born. From dust and gas, chaos and patience, a star is crafted. And once it’s there… It’s always there. Even when the clouds hide them, even when the daylight blinds us, even when we forget to look, they remain. Existing. Steady. Waiting.”
The tree tilted, thoughtful, but still unsure what the wind was trying to say.
The wind exhaled more slowly now, as though telling a secret meant only for the night,
“And when a star dies, it doesn’t just vanish. It collapses, explodes in a supernova — its death brighter than its entire life. That last light… no one forgets. It is noticed. Revered. And when it’s gone, it leaves behind an emptiness that knows no recreation — because you can never reform the same star.”
The tree looked at the girl again. She was laughing now, not at the fireworks, but at her friends’ playful antics. She took pictures of them with their dates, immortalising their fleeting joys while she stayed rooted in her quiet. Yet, even then, her eyes wandered skyward — searching, though she knew the stars were veiled tonight.
“Well, tree…”
The wind softened to a hush, its voice now a hush of silk,
“Souls that are made of stardust, fireworks never interest them. Their hearts crave the celestial. The ancient. The kind of connection that doesn’t just burn, it endures. She doesn’t want a date for the sake of a photograph. She’s waiting for the one whose existence feels like a star finally visible after a thousand cloudy nights.”
The tree leaned gently, as if bowing to newfound understanding, its leaves trembling in quiet reverence.
And just like that, the wind laughed softly, brushing past the girl, rustling the hem of her dress like a silent cheer.
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Posted Jul 17, 2025
A reflective story about a girl's quiet night by the riverbank.
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