She saw him again the next day. He was playing the same guitar, voice as lovely as the day before. He was still sitting on the exact same bench.
She too, was also in the exact same spot. Under the green leaves, she stood there, eyes closed, listening to the boy sing. The sweet spring breeze caressed her cheeks, her dark hair flying in the gentle wind.
She didn't go up to say hello, but it was okay. She didn't know his name, but it was okay. He didn't turn around, he didn't see her standing there, but it was okay.
He got up and left. She too, left, smiling.
Birds were chirping.
YOU ARE READING
Spring
Short StoryIn which he sings and plays his guitar everyday without knowing of the lost girl who sits behind a tree, listening to his music.
