⚠️Trigger Warning: Contains mild disturbing imagery and emotional content.
The plane hummed softly, a steady vibration against the cabin walls that lulled most passengers into a sleepy silence. Beyond the window, clouds stretched endlessly — pale and distant, like ripples of cotton adrift in the sky.
Elle had dozed off beside Amara, her head tilted against the seat, while Noah sat diagonally across the aisle, earphones in, scrolling idly through his phone.
Kai hadn't said a word since takeoff.
He sat near the window, one arm resting loosely on the armrest, eyes fixed on the slow crawl of sunlight that filtered through the glass. It painted his fingers in gold, yet his gaze wasn't really seeing it — it was far away, lost somewhere in the corridors of memory.
The conversation, the laughter, even the soft chatter around him faded into nothing. The hum of the engines dissolved into another sound — the faint creak of a wooden swing, the rustle of summer leaves, the distant bleating of goats.
And just like that, he wasn't eighteen anymore.
He was nine.
And it was summer.
---
The scent of grass and wildflowers filled the air — warm, clean, alive under the morning sun. Kai ran barefoot along the narrow dirt path that led to Uncle Ben's farm, a few steps behind Noah and Alex. Their laughter echoed between the fences as they raced to the gate.
"Last one there feeds the hens!" Alex shouted, his messy blond hair glinting like sunlight itself.
"You fed them yesterday!" Kai yelled back, but Alex was already halfway across the path, his long legs kicking up dust. Noah trailed behind, wielding a crooked stick like a sword, laughing as he tried to keep up.
A chorus of barks greeted them as they reached the fence. A pack of dogs — mostly golden retrievers and border collies — came bounding toward them, tails wagging furiously. Uncle Ben's deep voice followed from the porch.
"Careful, boys! They'll knock you over before you can say breakfast!"
The old man stepped out into the light, a wide straw hat shading his lined face. His smile was as warm as the morning sun.
"Morning, Uncle Ben!" the trio chorused.
"Morning, lads," he replied, voice gravelly but kind. "You're just in time. The goats are waiting for their favorite helpers."
Kai grinned. "You mean us?"
"Of course. Who else can chase those naughty goats faster than you three?"
The boys laughed and sprinted toward the pens, followed by a few barking dogs. The farm stretched wide and golden — fields rippling in the wind, fruit trees heavy with color, and beyond them, a flower garden that looked like a painting come alive. Roses, daisies, lavender, tulips — all swaying gently in the summer breeze.
Beside the garden stood a small fountain, its water glinting like silver. A pond shimmered nearby, koi darting beneath the surface. The wooden bridge above it creaked whenever the boys jumped on it.
It was their paradise — and Uncle Ben's home was its heart.
---
Uncle Ben lived alone. His farmhouse was large, built of red tiles and weathered wood, surrounded by climbing vines and flowerbeds. The villagers said he had once lived there with his wife — a kind, gentle woman who never stopped smiling.
She had fallen ill years ago and passed away.
Uncle Ben rarely spoke of her, but when he did, his eyes softened.
"She's still here," he'd say, pressing a hand to his chest. "Right here. My Anna never left."
The boys never fully understood, but they liked how he said it — warm, certain, as if she truly lingered somewhere close.
Sometimes, when they arrived early, they found him by the pond, humming softly to himself. The tune was slow and wistful. He'd smile when he saw them, yet the melody always stayed in Kai's mind long after.
---
The days that followed were perfect in every childish way.
They climbed haystacks, fed the sheep, collected eggs, and swung from the old tire hanging from the oak near the garden. At noon, they'd sit on the porch with lemonade and biscuits, listening to Uncle Ben's stories — tales of his youth, the animals he'd rescued, the travels he'd shared with Anna.
Noah liked the funny ones.
Alex liked the animal tales.
And Kai… Kai liked the ones about love.
Maybe it was the way Uncle Ben spoke — gentle, unhurried, filled with affection. Or maybe it was how the air around him always carried something bittersweet.
One evening, as the sun dipped low and painted everything in honey-gold, Kai noticed something strange.
Uncle Ben was kneeling near the garden, murmuring softly — as if speaking to someone unseen. When Kai came closer, there was no one there. Just flowers.
"Who are you talking to?" Kai asked quietly.
Uncle Ben looked up, startled, then smiled faintly. "Just the flowers, lad. They miss her too."
Kai didn't ask more. But the image stayed with him — the old man speaking to the air, as though someone invisible was still listening.
---
The summer rolled on — laughter, scraped knees, dirt-smudged faces. The trio came every morning and left only when the sky turned violet.
But slowly — too slowly to notice — something changed.
The house grew quieter.
The smiles thinner.
And sometimes, when they played by the pond, Kai caught Uncle Ben watching them from a window with an expression he couldn't name — something between longing and sorrow.
Kai remembered that afternoon clearly — the one when Alex had gone chasing the dog that stole his cap.
He'd come back a little pale, talking about a locked door he'd found behind the farmhouse.
It looked ancient, he said — the wood cracked, but the brass handle gleamed as though freshly polished. He claimed he'd bent down and seen something through the gap beneath — maybe the tip of a shoe, or the hem of a dress — perfectly still. But when the dog barked behind him, it vanished.
He'd mentioned a faint scent of lavender, too — strange, since no one at the farmhouse used it.
When he told Kai and Noah, they laughed.
"Probably just a storage room," Noah said.
"Or maybe Uncle Ben's hiding treasure there," Kai joked, earning a smirk from Alex.
Alex laughed along, but there had been something uneasy in his eyes — something Kai hadn't noticed until much later.
That evening, Uncle Ben overheard them whispering and warned them not to go near that side of the farmhouse.
"I keep my old tools there — saws, drills, blades. You kids could get hurt," he'd said, tone firm.
Kai hadn't thought much of it then. But now, the memory lingered — sharp and heavy. As though Uncle Ben's warning hadn't been about safety… but about keeping them away.
---
The next day, something felt off.
The weather was unusually still. Even the dogs were quiet — not a single bark or rustle. When they reached the farmhouse, the gate creaked open on its own. Uncle Ben wasn't outside, waiting with his familiar grin.
"Uncle Ben?" Noah called. No reply.
A strange unease crept up Kai's spine. After what Alex had said the day before, the silence around the place made his chest feel tight. The air smelled faintly metallic, like rust after rain, though the sky was clear.
They decided to look around. Noah headed to the barn, while Kai went toward the garden. Alex, as always, drifted toward the back — near the locked door.
Minutes passed. No sign of either Uncle Ben or Alex.
Kai and Noah exchanged a glance before splitting up — one toward the barn again, the other to the quiet corner behind the farmhouse.
---
When Kai found him, the world went silent.
He lay on the grass near the flower garden. The red roses nearby looked brighter than ever — too bright, almost unreal against the dark stain spreading through the soil. Blood had soaked deep into the ground, threading between petals like cracks in glass.
Kai froze. His breath caught painfully in his throat. For a moment, he thought it was just another prank — that any second there'd be laughter, a teasing shove, a shout of "Got you!"
But the stillness didn't break.
His heart pounded so hard it hurt. He stumbled forward, calling a name that barely left his lips. The air felt heavy — thick with iron, with fear.
"No… please…" The words came out strangled, broken between sobs he couldn't hold back. He shook the motionless body again and again, begging for a response that never came.
Somewhere far off, a dog barked — sharp, frightened — and Kai thought he saw movement near the house, a fleeting shadow against the wall. But when he blinked, it was gone.
He stayed there, crying, his hands stained red, the world around him blurring into soundless emptiness.
And then—
---
"Kai?"
The voice jolted him.
His eyes flew open, and sunlight vanished — replaced by the soft, artificial glow of the airplane cabin. His pulse was still racing, the echo of something distant pounding faintly in his ears.
Noah leaned over from the next seat, a hand on Kai's shoulder. "Hey. We've landed."
For a moment, Kai just stared at him — really stared — his gaze unfocused and far away, as if caught between two worlds.
"You okay?" Noah asked. "You zoned out for a while there."
Kai blinked, forcing a breath that felt heavier than it should've. "Yeah," he said at last, voice low. "Just… thinking."
Noah smiled faintly, though concern flickered behind it. "You? Thinking that hard? Must be serious."
Kai tried to smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. He turned toward the window. Below, the city stretched out like a shimmering maze of gold and grey, lights flickering to life beneath the dusk.
For a fleeting second, his reflection merged with the view — and behind it, in the clouds, he thought he saw it again: a field washed in light, a garden, a faint blur of red against green.
He blinked, and it was gone.
The seatbelt light blinked on. Passengers stirred, reaching for bags and stretching after the long flight. But Kai stayed still, hand resting loosely on the armrest, eyes fixed on the fading glow outside. It felt like if he moved, the memory might break — or pull him somewhere he wasn't ready to go.
He could almost hear it again — the laughter, the creak of the swing, the wind in the grass. And beneath it, a voice he hadn't heard in years — faint, fading, yet impossibly close.
"Let's go," Noah said softly.
Kai nodded without looking away. His reflection stared back at him — eyes shadowed by the kind of silence that follows loss.
As he rose from his seat, he could still feel it — the quiet ache of a summer that refused to fade.
---
To be continued…
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Author's Note:
Hey everyone! I'll be posting three chapters a week from now on. Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story — your encouragement truly means a lot. 💕 Stay tuned for the next chapter!