That evening, Anuli glowed.
Not from lanterns, but from laughter. Not from fires, but from the warmth of hearts rekindled.
A festival had not been planned—but it happened anyway. As if joy itself had chosen that night to visit the village.
Mama Ebele stood in the square, wearing a bright head wrap and holding a drum that hadn't been touched in years. "One story, one beat!" she called, and the children gathered in circles.
Jude unveiled a new mural—this one of the hidden garden, with Kaira and Emeka standing beside a tree that shimmered like a dream caught in sunlight. The crowd gasped, then clapped.
The carpenter, the widow, the girl who danced—all were there. And Kaira saw something beautiful: they were no longer waiting for someone to save them. They were blooming.
At the edge of the gathering, Emeka tuned his guitar. He looked at Kaira. "Want to sing?"
Kaira laughed, her heart full. "Only if you promise not to make me cry."
"No promises," he teased.
As he strummed, a melody rose—soft, nostalgic. The song of the garden. The crowd hushed as Kaira sang:
"From seeds unseen, we rise and grow,
In hidden light, our spirits glow,
A garden blooms where hearts believe,
In dreams we plant, in love we weave…"
Couples swayed. Children danced with shadows. The moon stood high, casting silver over the rooftops.
And then—the wind changed.
It swept through the village with a whisper, curling around each person, tickling their ears with a gentle question:
What dream have you buried?
Kaira closed her eyes.
For so long, she thought her purpose was to plant seeds and help others bloom. But tonight, under the stars, she realized something more:
She was blooming too.
As the last note faded, silence wrapped the village like a warm blanket. And then—
Applause. Cheers. Tears.
Kaira stepped down from the stage and looked toward the path that led to the garden. The trees there shimmered faintly.
It was calling again.
But not just to her.
To everyone.