𝓦𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓢𝓹𝓸𝓴𝓮

Intro Hidden behind the oldest building on campus, past an arch of crumbling stone and tangled vines, lay a garden no one remembered. It wasn’t on any map, and when people passed, their eyes slid over the gate like it wasn’t there. But I saw it. I always had. I found it in my first semester—though now, I wonder if it found me. I’d followed a crow into the fog, drawn by something I couldn’t explain. Since then, it had become mine. My secret place. My stillness. Nature had taken it back—wildflowers burst through cracked paths, trees arched like guardians, and silence settled like an old, sacred spell. Time didn’t move there. It breathed. At the center stood him. The statue. He was carved from pale stone—tall, powerful, still. His hair swept across his brow, and even with closed eyes, he seemed aware. His face held sorrow so deep, I sometimes forgot he wasn’t real. I sketched him often, again and again. The way sunlight warmed his shoulders, how moss curled along his arms like memory. I didn’t know who he was. No one did. But that night—under a sky full of stars—something changed. I sat alone in the dark, thoughts drifting. Then I saw it—a shooting star. Without thinking, I whispered, “I wish you were alive.” Five words. And the garden held its breath. Above me, the stars flared—brighter, sharper, like they’d heard me. Like they’d been waiting. I didn’t know it then, but I was the Chosen. The only one who could wake what had long been cursed to sleep. When I turned back, the statue glowed faintly. Warmth stirred in the air. Cracks shimmered across his skin. And then he moved. His eyes opened—not stone, but light. Stars behind a storm. And he looked at me not with confusion—but recognition. As if he had always known me. Far above, the gods stirred. I had made a wish. And destiny had heard.