Where the Wild Places Forget

The rain fell lightly, pattering against the canopy of branches overhead. The forest beyond the garden was alive with whispers—the wind stirring through brittle leaves, roots shifting beneath the earth, the soft hum of distant creatures moving through the night. It should have brought Lira peace. But there was no peace to be found here, not anymore.

She stood just beyond the stone wall, hidden among the vines and wildflowers that had grown unchecked along the courtyard's edges. The scent of damp earth clung to the air, and the cold mist kissed her skin, but it did nothing to lift the weight pressing against her chest.

Behind her, the hall was filled with the sounds of quiet celebration—the low hum of voices, the clink of goblets, and the rustling of fine silks. They called it a joyous occasion—the joining of two paths into one. But no amount of ritual could change what this truly was: a binding.

A soft footstep broke the stillness. She didn’t turn—she knew who it was.

"Lira," Samir whispered, his voice carrying just enough caution to tell her he knew she didn't want to be found. He approached slowly, careful not to step on the creeping ivy tangled across the stones. He always moved like someone trying to tread lightly through her world. And though it was the gentlest intrusion, it still felt like an intrusion.

"You'll catch a cold," he murmured, stepping closer.

Lira exhaled through her nose, the faintest smile curling at the edge of her lips. “Cold isn’t what I’m worried about.”

Samir gave a quiet laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. He stood beside her now, his cloak brushing hers, and together, they stared out into the shadowed forest beyond the walls. She could feel his presence without touching him—solid and steady, like a stone in the river. It had always been like this between them: comfortable but uninvited.

“You can still leave, you know,” Samir said softly. His voice was low, but the weight in it was unmistakable. He wasn’t making an offer. He was giving her an out.

Lira shook her head, the movement slow and deliberate. “And where would I go?” Her hand rested against the bark of a tree growing through the cracked stones. She felt the life thrumming beneath her palm—steady, old, indifferent. “There’s nowhere left that doesn’t lead back here.”

Samir watched her carefully, the way one might watch a bird perched on a windowsill, afraid it might take flight at any moment. "You could run," he whispered as if it was a secret. "I'd help you."

The thought stung. Lira could momentarily picture it—the two of them slipping into the forest under the cover of night, disappearing into the wilderness, leaving this life behind. But she knew better. Some roots grew too deep to tear free.

“They’d find me,” she said, her voice heavy with certainty. “And then what?”

Samir didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They both knew the truth. There was no escaping the future waiting for her. This was how things had always been done. And the weight of centuries-old tradition was not something one could run from.

The night deepened, and the air smelled of damp moss and pine needles. Somewhere in the forest, a bird gave a low, mournful call. Lira closed her eyes and let the sound wash over her, but even the wild places couldn’t drown out the tightness in her chest.

"I thought..." she began, her voice barely a whisper, "I thought it wouldn't feel like this." Her hands trembled as she pressed them into the folds of her cloak. She had been trained to see the world as cycles—growth, decay, renewal. She'd thought she could bend to this new phase and become part of the pattern.

But instead, it felt like something was breaking inside her, and nothing would grow from the pieces.

Samir shifted closer, his voice low and quiet. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Lira.”

"Yes, it does." Her words were sharper than she intended, and Samir flinched just barely. It wasn't his fault. But that didn't make it easier to bear.

She looked down at her hands, feeling the familiar ache in her chest—the ache of something stolen before it could bloom. She had dreamed of freedom once, the kind of life that didn’t involve ties knotted so tight they strangled. But dreams withered when left out in the cold.

Samir hesitated, then reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. “Lira... you don’t have to carry this alone.”

Her throat tightened. How many times had she heard that lie? And yet, it never got easier to resist. She let his hand linger against hers, even though its warmth only reminded her of everything she couldn't have.

“I don’t want this,” she whispered, the words cracking under the weight of truth. “I don’t want to belong to someone else.”

Samir’s hand tensed, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to pull away. But instead, he squeezed her fingers gently, like it was the only thing he could offer.

“You don’t belong to me, Lira,” he whispered. “You never did.”

The words should have been comforting, but instead, they felt like salt on an open wound. Whether he meant to or not, Samir was part of the binding. No amount of kindness could change that.

"Don't tell anyone," she whispered, her voice hollow. It wasn't just a plea. It was a confession. A crack in the mask she wore, too small to be seen but large enough to bleed through.

Samir’s gaze softened. “I won’t.”

The rain deepened, the drops heavy against the leaves, sliding down the bark like tears. The forest beyond the wall seemed farther away than ever, the wild places slipping out of reach.

Lira closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the rough bark of the tree. This was the life she had been given, the one she was expected to live. She knew how to bow to the will of the earth, how to accept the cycles that governed life. But this—this wasn’t part of any natural pattern. It was something twisted, something that demanded she sever a part of herself just to survive.

Samir stood beside her, silent but present, like a tree that would withstand any storm. She hated him for it. And yet, she was grateful.

The rain soaked through her cloak, but she made no move to return to the hall. The night was heavy, and the weight of what came next was heavier still.

“I’ll walk with you,” Samir said softly, as though the words carried any meaning.

Lira nodded, though her heart felt like stone. The path was set. The knot was tied. And no amount of kindness could undo what had already been done.

She slipped her hand from his and stepped back beneath the archway, her eyes fixed on the distant forest, where freedom swayed just out of reach. She would walk this path, because there was no other choice.

And the wild places would forget her name.