There are journeys never planned in advance, begun simply by a gentle call—like the whisper of the wind through northern maple forests, like the soft breath of memory.

I returned to the North, following familiar roads winding around hill slopes, where clusters of yellow chrysanthemums overflowed onto the paths. The changing-season wind whispered past my ears, carrying the scent of pine resin mixed with the faint aroma of fallen leaves. With every mile left behind, my heart grew more eager, as if each beat quickened to shorten the distance between me and the woman who had waited, counting days and months.

Twilight had fallen. In my mind, I pictured her slender figure waiting by the gate, along a path surely already painted gold by blooming chrysanthemums. I had come back, carrying this foolish, hopeless love like a silent vow to bury by the Dreaming Stream, where time itself, no matter how indifferent, could never wash it away.

Yet, as soon as my car stopped in front of her house, instead of her bright smile, I was met with an unsettling silence that made my heart pause. I hurriedly stepped out, striding to the door and knocking. The front door was firmly shut, the garden gate latched, with only the wind chimes ringing faintly in the breeze. Anxious, I knocked for a long while, but nothing stirred; through the glass pane, the dim interior seemed unchanged. Everything around me was so still that it felt as if even the wind had stopped. My mind raced with fearful thoughts, and I called her name softly at first, then louder, my voice breaking from fear.

Just yesterday at noon, I had sent her a message telling her what time I would arrive; she had replied joyfully, promising to be waiting by the door. But on the way, passing through a small town, I got caught in a traffic jam after an accident ahead. I tried to text again, but the signal was too weak.

I have tried to call, but the phone didn’t even ring; only the rustle of wind chasing itself through the pine branches above and stirring the chrysanthemums below kept me company. Suddenly, I thought of the stream, where she often sat at dusk. I drove to the foot of the bridge and hurried down the familiar path behind her house.

From afar, the only things I saw were the golden evening light dancing on the water and the birds finding their perches for the night, but no sign of her. My heart burned with worry. Just as I arrived, I saw her rise from the patch of grass beside the stream. My legs nearly gave way with relief. She stared at me in disbelief, then rushed over, tears streaming down her face as she threw her arms around me. For a moment, time seemed to stop, and then I gathered myself enough to wrap my arms tightly around her.

“I was going mad not seeing you anywhere!”

She said nothing, only clung to me as if afraid I might vanish. The pine forest wind sang the last song of late summer. The sun had already dipped behind the trees, leaving us in the twilight. She looked up, eyes brimming with tears. I bent down, gently kissed away the salty drops, as though drinking in her sorrow, her longing, and her joy all at once.

Her warmth blended into the breath of the forest, making me feel as though nature itself had opened its arms to embrace the two of us. We lay beside the stream, listening to its gentle murmur and the racing of our hearts, singing along to an old love song known by all, yet still sweet and new every time.

“Everyone knows the song of love is old,
Yet its melody still stirs, still tastes so sweet.”

Above us, the sky stretched vast, studded with countless stars. Waves of love threatened to burst from my chest. I whispered, “My love, what debts from past lives bind us, that even now we still remember, still love like this?” She only smiled, eyes glistening, needing no words to answer. The deeper the love, the sharper the pain of separation. And I wondered, does time ever wait for anyone?

The night dew began to fall, and I felt a slight chill on my skin. I gently kissed her almond-shaped eyes and pressed my racing heart to hers, as if to share every beat. She closed her eyes, lips slightly parted, whispering words meant only for me.

At that moment, I forgot the present, forgot even the future. She melted into my embrace, and I was lost in a sky shimmering with memories and desire. Perhaps we had owed each other in a previous life, so tonight our boat finally returned to its destined shore.

Her heartbeat quickened, joy shining through her gaze. Suddenly, she playfully bit my shoulder, then giggled, her fragrant hair brushing my cheek. Nestling her head against my chest like a child, she made time feel as though it had truly stopped, leaving just us, by the Dreaming Stream, on a late summer evening.

She whispered in my ear:

“I waited so long, worrying something might have happened to you. Pacing in and out until my mind felt tangled, I sat by the stream watching the water, the deer drinking, hoping to calm myself. But I kept running back to check. At last, I lay on the grass in despair, fearing you’d broken your promise… or that something terrible had happened.”

I held her tightly, gently patting her back to soothe her, explaining:

“I was stuck in traffic in the little town, and couldn’t call because of poor reception. It took more than half an hour before I could get moving again. When I arrived and saw everything locked, I knocked and knocked with no reply. Terrified, I thought of the stream and hurried to the bridge, parked, and ran here… not seeing you almost drove me mad…”

She lifted tearful eyes to me, smiling faintly through her tears.

“So, you still kept your promise, you still came back to me…”

I nodded, holding her even closer, letting silence speak where words failed. In that moment, all the worry and fear melted away. Only the wind rustling through the maples, the stream’s gentle song, and the beating of two hearts remained, a fragile yet unshakable happiness.

Above, the stars glittered like a thousand night candles, lighting two souls who had wandered through countless seasons of longing. I whispered in her ear:

“There will still be days apart, still seasons of waiting… but I promise, whenever the wind carries a new season, I’ll find my way back to this stream, until I can finally lay down the burdens of work and life.”

She smiled, softly, eyes sparkling with trust. In that moment, I realized that time will pass, seasons will change, hair will turn silver… yet this bond will never fade.

And on that late summer night, beside the Dreaming Stream, among the scent of grass, the murmur of water, and under a sky jeweled with endless stars, we finally found each other again after so many days and nights of waiting and longing.

Bài thơ này được đăng vào ngày Monday, December 8th, 2025 trong mục Sáng Tác Mới, Short Story, Truyện, Vietnamese/English Version.