The golden waves of barley rustled in the wind like a sea of whispers, and Farah moved through them with a practiced grace. Her fingers skimmed the tops of the stalks, warm sunlight playing in her dark curls. The quiet hum of bees and the distant bleating of sheep was her favorite kind of music—predictable, peaceful, and utterly hers.
That peace shattered with a sudden yelp and a crash from beyond the fence.
She turned, brow furrowed, and made her way to the edge of the field where the noise came from. There, tangled in brambles and looking far too pleased with himself for someone who'd just ruined her rose bushes, stood a man with a camera hanging from his neck and a scratch across his cheek.
"Uh… hi," he said, grinning. "Beautiful place. Didn't mean to scare you—or your roses."
Farah folded her arms. "This is private land."
"I figured that out when the bush attacked me."
She didn't smile.
Nael took a small step back, holding up his hands. "Okay, fair enough. I was just looking for a rare wildflower I read about—apparently it only grows around this valley. I got turned around. I'll go."
"You'd better," Farah said, not unkindly. "And maybe stick to the paths."
He nodded, turned, then paused. "I'm Nael, by the way. Just passing through."
She didn't answer, just watched him disappear back into the brush, his footsteps loud and clumsy on the dry earth.
Farah didn't know then that his arrival had stirred something in the wind—something that would change both their lives forever.