Whispers In the Dark

The old town sign creaked in the wind as Liang Yue’s car rolled past, headlights slicing through the early evening mist. She hadn’t been back to Willow Creek in six years, but nothing had changed. The same crooked oak trees lined the road, the same white church steeple peeked above the rooftops, and the same knot of nerves twisted in her stomach as she crossed the bridge into town.

She slowed as she passed the bakery—her mother’s favorite—then the old cinema, its marquee faded and empty. Everything looked smaller than she remembered, like a stage set left behind after the actors had gone. She parked in front of her childhood home, the porch light glowing softly in the dusk.

Liang Yue hesitated, hand on the car door. She could still turn around, drive back to the city, pretend she’d never come. But she’d promised herself she would face the past. She owed it to herself—and to Chen Wei.

The porch steps creaked as she climbed them, suitcase in hand. The door opened before she could knock.

“Yue?” Her mother’s voice was gentle, uncertain, as if she might vanish if spoken to too loudly.

“Hi, Mama,” Yue managed, forcing a smile.

Her mother pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. I made your favorite. Red bean buns.”

Yue breathed in the familiar scent, letting it anchor her. “Thanks, Mama. I’m glad to be home.”

They settled into the kitchen, the warmth and light chasing away the shadows that lingered in Yue’s mind. Her mother chatted about the neighbors, the temple festival, the new librarian—small-town gossip that felt both foreign and comforting.

But Yue’s thoughts kept drifting to Chen Wei.

She hadn’t seen him since the night she left. They’d promised to keep in touch, but life had gotten in the way—college, jobs, heartbreaks. She wondered if he’d changed, if he’d still remember the promises they’d made under the willow tree by the lake.

After dinner, Yue slipped outside, drawn by the pull of old memories. The air was cool, and the sky was a deep indigo, stars just beginning to appear. She wandered down the familiar path toward the lake, her footsteps muffled by the soft grass.

The willow tree stood as it always had, its branches trailing in the water. Yue reached out, fingers brushing the rough bark. She closed her eyes, remembering the last night she and Chen Wei had spent here, the whispered vows, the tears.

A twig snapped behind her.

Yue spun, heart pounding. A figure stood at the edge of the trees, half-hidden in shadow.

“Who’s there?” she called, trying to keep her voice steady.

The figure stepped into the moonlight, and Yue’s breath caught.

“Hey, Yue.”

Chen Wei’s voice was deeper than she remembered, but the warmth was still there. He looked older, broader in the shoulders, but his eyes—those stormy gray eyes—were the same.

“Wei.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

He smiled, a little uncertain, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. “Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight.”

“I needed some air,” she said, hugging herself against the chill. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah. Me neither.” He hesitated, glancing at the willow. “You always did like it here.”

They stood in silence, the only sound the gentle lapping of the water and the distant chirp of crickets.

“I heard you were back,” Wei said finally. “Your mom mentioned it at the store.”

Yue nodded, unsure what to say. The weight of all the unspoken words between them pressed in.

“Why did you come back?” he asked quietly.

She looked away, watching the moon’s reflection ripple on the lake. “I’m not sure. I guess… I needed to remember who I was. Before everything changed.”

Wei stepped closer, his presence steady and familiar. “You never really changed, Yue. Not to me.”

Yue swallowed hard. “I missed you, Wei.”

He smiled, bittersweet. “I waited for you, you know. All this time.”

A shiver ran through her—not from the cold, but from something deeper. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

Wei’s gaze softened. “I always knew you’d come back. I just didn’t know when.”

They stood together in the moonlight, the past swirling around them like mist. Yue felt the old ache, the longing she’d tried to bury. But there was something else, too—a question, unspoken, hanging in the night air.

Suddenly, a distant shout echoed from the woods. Both Yue and Wei tensed.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered.

Wei nodded, his expression darkening. “Yeah. I’ve been hearing strange things out here lately. People talking about shadows in the woods, things going missing.”

Yue’s heart thudded. “Do you think it’s—?”

Wei shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’ll walk you back, just in case.”

They moved together along the path, the night pressing in around them. Yue felt Wei’s hand brush hers, tentative, as if asking permission. She let her fingers curl around his, the contact warm and reassuring.

As they reached her porch, Wei paused. “Yue… if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

She nodded, her heart full of words she couldn’t say. “Thank you, Wei. For waiting.”

He smiled, a shadow passing through his eyes. “Always.”

Yue watched him disappear into the darkness, the night alive with secrets and possibilities. She stood on the porch, listening to the whispers in the dark, and wondered what else the shadows might reveal.

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