The old oak tree stood in front of me like a monument to everything I had left behind, a silent witness to the life I once knew and the dreams I had dared to believe in. Its sprawling branches stretched toward the sky, intertwining like outstretched arms, as if reaching for the fragments of the past that still lingered somewhere above. Those same branches had shaded our summers and held our secrets, and now, even years later, they felt impossibly familiar unchanged by time while everything else had shifted.
I stepped closer, the crunch of leaves beneath my boots echoing in the stillness. My hand trembled as I reached out, fingers brushing against the rough, weathered bark. It felt solid, grounding, yet something about it made my throat tighten. Here it was, unchanged, and yet I had changed so much. I traced the heart we'd carved when we were just kids, E+L, each jagged line as vivid as the day we'd made it.
I could almost hear his voice as it had been back then, light and teasing.
"Think this'll last forever?" I had asked, watching him struggle with the pocketknife as he scratched the letters into the bark.
"It's an oak tree, Ellie," Liam had said with that unshakable certainty he always carried. "This tree's been here forever, and it'll be here long after we're gone."
I'd rolled my eyes, but secretly, I'd believed him. Liam had a way of making me believe in things, even the impossible.
Now, standing here years later, I wondered if he'd been right. The heart was still there, weathered but intact. It had survived storms, seasons, and the weight of time. But had we?
A breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and for a moment, I closed my eyes, letting the memories take over. This tree had been more than just a tree. It was our sanctuary, our meeting place, our everything. It was where we'd built a rickety treehouse that could barely hold us both, where we'd whispered secrets we swore to never tell, and where we'd dreamed of futures that felt infinite.
Liam had always been the dreamer, convincing me to climb higher than I wanted, to take leaps of faith I never would have dared without him.
"Come on, Ellie," he'd said one afternoon, his hand outstretched as I hesitated on the lower branches. "You're not gonna fall. I won't let you."
And I'd trusted him. I always trusted him.
The sting of tears burned behind my eyes as I opened them, staring at the carving again. E+L. Just two letters and a symbol, but they carried the weight of everything we had been—everything we might have been if life hadn't pulled us apart.
I ran my thumb over the heart, as if touching it might somehow bring us back to that time, to that innocence. To when the world felt small and simple, when this tree felt like the center of it all, and when Liam and I believed nothing could come between us.
But life did.
Life always does.
The ache in my chest deepened as I stood there, caught between the past and the present, between who I was and who I had become. The tree was the same, unchanged, and yet it felt like a ghost of something I could never fully return to.
Still, as my fingers lingered on the carving, I couldn't help but wonder could something this strong, this deeply rooted, really ever be lost?
The bark was rough beneath my fingertips as I traced the heart we'd carved together when we were ten. E+L.
Time had weathered the edges, softened the once-sharp lines, but the carving was still there just like Liam had said it would be. "Oak trees last forever, Ellie," he'd told me with that boyish confidence I used to tease him about. "So does this."
I closed my eyes and let the memories wash over me. It wasn't just the carving; this tree had been everything to us. It was where we built our first treehouse, a wobbly structure that Liam insisted would withstand a hurricane. It was where we hid out during summer thunderstorms, the branches shielding us like the arms of some benevolent giant. It was where we whispered secrets, made promises, and dreamed up adventures that took us everywhere our small town couldn't.
"Ellie, catch!" Liam had shouted once, tossing a peanut butter sandwich down from the treehouse. It hit me square in the forehead, leaving a smudge of jelly just above my eyebrow. He'd laughed so hard he nearly fell out of the tree. I didn't speak to him for an entire afternoon, but by evening, we were side by side again, plotting our next great escapade.
I opened my eyes, blinking back the sting of tears. The years had been kind to the tree, but I couldn't say the same for us. Life had pulled us in different directions, and somewhere along the way, the thread that tied us together had frayed.
The sound of footsteps crunching through the leaves behind me made my breath catch. I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.
"I thought I'd find you here," Liam said, his voice soft but unmistakable.
I turned slowly, my heart pounding. He looked older, his shoulders broader, his jaw more defined, and there were faint lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before. But his hair was still that same messy blond, and his green eyes…those hadn't changed at all.
"Still predictable, huh?" I said, trying to sound light, even as my voice wavered.
His lips curved into a small smile as he stepped closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. "Only to you." He glanced at the tree, his gaze settling on the carvings. "It's still here."
"Yeah," I said, looking back at the heart. "It's still here."
For a moment, we stood in silence, the weight of years and unspoken words hanging between us.
"Do you remember when we carved that?" he asked, nodding toward the initials.
"How could I forget? You made me hold the knife because you were afraid you'd mess it up."
He laughed, and the sound was so familiar, so warm, that it sent a pang straight to my chest. "You always had steadier hands than me."
"Yeah, well, you made up for it with all your big ideas," I said, my fingers still tracing the heart. "Like the time you decided we were going to build a spaceship out of soda cans."
"Hey, that could've worked if we'd had better duct tape," he shot back, his grin widening.
I laughed, shaking my head. "You were always so sure of everything back then."
"Not everything," he said, his voice softening. "But I was sure about this. About us."
The words hit me harder than I expected, and I looked down, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "Things change, Liam," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Not everything," he said, taking another step closer. "This tree didn't. And I don't think we have, either."
I glanced up at him, and for the first time in years, I saw the boy I used to know—the one who built me a treehouse when I was too scared to climb, who made me laugh until my sides hurt, who promised me he'd always be there.
"I missed you," I said before I could stop myself. The words felt like they'd been trapped inside me for years, waiting for this moment.
"I missed you too," he said, his voice cracking just enough to make my chest ache. "More than you know."
We stood there for what felt like forever, neither of us saying anything, just letting the silence fill the spaces between us. I felt the years melting away, the hurt, the distance, all of it.
Finally, Liam broke the silence. "You know," he said, his voice quiet but steady, "I think this tree kept me going. Every time I thought about giving up—on work, on life, on everything—I thought about this place. About us."
I swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "Me too," I admitted. "Coming back here…it feels like coming home."
"It is home," he said, his gaze locking onto mine. "At least, it was. And maybe it still can be."
I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to reach out, to hold onto him and never let go, but another part of me was terrified of the years we'd lost, of the possibility that we couldn't find our way back to what we'd once had.
But then Liam took my hand, his fingers warm and steady against mine. "We planted roots here, Ellie," he said, his voice full of quiet determination. "And the roots don't disappear. They grow."
I looked down at our intertwined hands, then back at the tree, at the initials carved into its bark. And for the first time in a long time, I felt hope like maybe, just maybe, the roots we'd planted all those years ago were strong enough to hold us together.
And maybe, just maybe, they always would be.
Chapter 1
"THE ROOTS OF LOVE"
The old oak tree stood in front of me like a monument to everything I had left behind, a silent witness to the life I once knew and the dreams I had dared to believe in. Its sprawling branches stretched toward the sky, intertwining like outstretched arms, as if reaching for the fragments of the past that still lingered somewhere above. Those same branches had shaded our summers and held our secrets, and now, even years later, they felt impossibly familiar unchanged by time while everything else had shifted.
I stepped closer, the crunch of leaves beneath my boots echoing in the stillness. My hand trembled as I reached out, fingers brushing against the rough, weathered bark. It felt solid, grounding, yet something about it made my throat tighten. Here it was, unchanged, and yet I had changed so much. I traced the heart we'd carved when we were just kids, E+L, each jagged line as vivid as the day we'd made it.
I could almost hear his voice as it had been back then, light and teasing.
"Think this'll last forever?" I had asked, watching him struggle with the pocketknife as he scratched the letters into the bark.
"It's an oak tree, Ellie," Liam had said with that unshakable certainty he always carried. "This tree's been here forever, and it'll be here long after we're gone."
I'd rolled my eyes, but secretly, I'd believed him. Liam had a way of making me believe in things, even the impossible.
Now, standing here years later, I wondered if he'd been right. The heart was still there, weathered but intact. It had survived storms, seasons, and the weight of time. But had we?
A breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and for a moment, I closed my eyes, letting the memories take over. This tree had been more than just a tree. It was our sanctuary, our meeting place, our everything. It was where we'd built a rickety treehouse that could barely hold us both, where we'd whispered secrets we swore to never tell, and where we'd dreamed of futures that felt infinite.
Liam had always been the dreamer, convincing me to climb higher than I wanted, to take leaps of faith I never would have dared without him.
"Come on, Ellie," he'd said one afternoon, his hand outstretched as I hesitated on the lower branches. "You're not gonna fall. I won't let you."
And I'd trusted him. I always trusted him.
The sting of tears burned behind my eyes as I opened them, staring at the carving again. E+L. Just two letters and a symbol, but they carried the weight of everything we had been—everything we might have been if life hadn't pulled us apart.
I ran my thumb over the heart, as if touching it might somehow bring us back to that time, to that innocence. To when the world felt small and simple, when this tree felt like the center of it all, and when Liam and I believed nothing could come between us.
But life did.
Life always does.
The ache in my chest deepened as I stood there, caught between the past and the present, between who I was and who I had become. The tree was the same, unchanged, and yet it felt like a ghost of something I could never fully return to.
Still, as my fingers lingered on the carving, I couldn't help but wonder could something this strong, this deeply rooted, really ever be lost?
The bark was rough beneath my fingertips as I traced the heart we'd carved together when we were ten. E+L.
Time had weathered the edges, softened the once-sharp lines, but the carving was still there just like Liam had said it would be. "Oak trees last forever, Ellie," he'd told me with that boyish confidence I used to tease him about. "So does this."
I closed my eyes and let the memories wash over me. It wasn't just the carving; this tree had been everything to us. It was where we built our first treehouse, a wobbly structure that Liam insisted would withstand a hurricane. It was where we hid out during summer thunderstorms, the branches shielding us like the arms of some benevolent giant. It was where we whispered secrets, made promises, and dreamed up adventures that took us everywhere our small town couldn't.
"Ellie, catch!" Liam had shouted once, tossing a peanut butter sandwich down from the treehouse. It hit me square in the forehead, leaving a smudge of jelly just above my eyebrow. He'd laughed so hard he nearly fell out of the tree. I didn't speak to him for an entire afternoon, but by evening, we were side by side again, plotting our next great escapade.
I opened my eyes, blinking back the sting of tears. The years had been kind to the tree, but I couldn't say the same for us. Life had pulled us in different directions, and somewhere along the way, the thread that tied us together had frayed.
The sound of footsteps crunching through the leaves behind me made my breath catch. I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.
"I thought I'd find you here," Liam said, his voice soft but unmistakable.
I turned slowly, my heart pounding. He looked older, his shoulders broader, his jaw more defined, and there were faint lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before. But his hair was still that same messy blond, and his green eyes…those hadn't changed at all.
"Still predictable, huh?" I said, trying to sound light, even as my voice wavered.
His lips curved into a small smile as he stepped closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. "Only to you." He glanced at the tree, his gaze settling on the carvings. "It's still here."
"Yeah," I said, looking back at the heart. "It's still here."
For a moment, we stood in silence, the weight of years and unspoken words hanging between us.
"Do you remember when we carved that?" he asked, nodding toward the initials.
"How could I forget? You made me hold the knife because you were afraid you'd mess it up."
He laughed, and the sound was so familiar, so warm, that it sent a pang straight to my chest. "You always had steadier hands than me."
"Yeah, well, you made up for it with all your big ideas," I said, my fingers still tracing the heart. "Like the time you decided we were going to build a spaceship out of soda cans."
"Hey, that could've worked if we'd had better duct tape," he shot back, his grin widening.
I laughed, shaking my head. "You were always so sure of everything back then."
"Not everything," he said, his voice softening. "But I was sure about this. About us."
The words hit me harder than I expected, and I looked down, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "Things change, Liam," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Not everything," he said, taking another step closer. "This tree didn't. And I don't think we have, either."
I glanced up at him, and for the first time in years, I saw the boy I used to know—the one who built me a treehouse when I was too scared to climb, who made me laugh until my sides hurt, who promised me he'd always be there.
"I missed you," I said before I could stop myself. The words felt like they'd been trapped inside me for years, waiting for this moment.
"I missed you too," he said, his voice cracking just enough to make my chest ache. "More than you know."
We stood there for what felt like forever, neither of us saying anything, just letting the silence fill the spaces between us. I felt the years melting away, the hurt, the distance, all of it.
Finally, Liam broke the silence. "You know," he said, his voice quiet but steady, "I think this tree kept me going. Every time I thought about giving up—on work, on life, on everything—I thought about this place. About us."
I swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "Me too," I admitted. "Coming back here…it feels like coming home."
"It is home," he said, his gaze locking onto mine. "At least, it was. And maybe it still can be."
I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to reach out, to hold onto him and never let go, but another part of me was terrified of the years we'd lost, of the possibility that we couldn't find our way back to what we'd once had.
But then Liam took my hand, his fingers warm and steady against mine. "We planted roots here, Ellie," he said, his voice full of quiet determination. "And the roots don't disappear. They grow."
I looked down at our intertwined hands, then back at the tree, at the initials carved into its bark. And for the first time in a long time, I felt hope like maybe, just maybe, the roots we'd planted all those years ago were strong enough to hold us together.
And maybe, just maybe, they always would be.