In the quiet corners of starlit nights, where whispers of forgotten promises linger on the wind, we wandered. Hand in hand, tracing the outline of dreams we dared to dream, each step echoing with the melody of our hearts entwined.

Do you remember the garden with the blossoms like your laughter—vivid and life-affirming? I can still hear the rustle of petals brushing against sunlight, as if the universe conspired to keep our secrets safe. In the depths of that moment, time itself became an ally, bending and swirling like the sparkling spheres above.

Some nights, I question whether the moon and stars conspired in our creation, crafting our beings from the same stardust. All that's left now are echoes—the soft, aching reverberations of a love that was, and perhaps still could be, wrapped in another life.