The golden light of the sun poured gently over the fields of lavender and rosemary, casting long, soft shadows across the stone path. Eiran knelt beside a raised bed, fingers brushing through the thyme as the wind carried its scent upward—earthy, healing.
The sanctuary was alive, but quiet. Guests wandered like whispers, respecting the silence that Sanctuary offered. Eiran liked this time of day. No one asked questions. No one needed anything. Just stillness. Just peace.
Then he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel behind him. Not hurried. Not hesitant. Just… present.
He looked up.
She wasn't looking at him at first. She was gazing out over the vineyard, her eyes half-shut like she was listening to the wind speak. Her long beige coat danced around her ankles. A notebook peeked out of her canvas bag. Her hair moved like willow branches in slow motion.
Then she turned.
Her eyes met his—not in surprise, but like she had expected him to be there.
"Hi," she said gently. "I'm Aira. I think I'm here a little early. I was supposed to check into the retreat house, but I saw the garden and…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes dropped to the herbs between his fingers. "...I couldn't not stop."
Eiran stood slowly, brushing his hands clean, suddenly unsure why his breath had slowed.
"It's alright," he said. "This place is made for people who stop."
She smiled, her eyes scanning the landscape as if trying to memorize it. "It feels like a dream here. Like… if I close my eyes, I'll forget it ever existed."
"It's real," he said. "And you're here."
She looked at him again—longer this time, like she was reading something on his face he hadn't written.
"I think I was meant to be."
Eiran didn't know her yet. But something inside him settled in her presence—like a string that had been taut for years had finally loosened. Eiran weren't sure if it was her stillness, or how she didn't try to fill the silence between him. But in that brief, soft moment, he felt it:
She wasn't just visiting your sanctuary.She was sanctuary.