The group of weary travelers stood at a crossroads, the dense forest around them swallowing the last hints of daylight. Celine squinted at the faded map in his hand, frustration mounting.
"I told you we should've taken the left path," Sarah, one of their friends, muttered under her breath.
"And end up circling back to the highway?" Celine shot back, his tone sharper than he intended.
Before the tension could escalate, a calm, steady voice interrupted.
"Lost, are we?"
Everyone turned toward the sound. A man emerged from the shadows of the trees, carrying a walking stick and wearing a warm, knowing smile. His clothes were simple—a weathered shirt, rolled-up sleeves, and boots that had seen many miles.
Celine's eyes widened. "Oliver?"
The stranger chuckled, and his gaze softened. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Celine?"
The tension melted as the two men embraced, laughter filling the air. The others exchanged curious glances, unsure of how to react.
"Who's he?" Mia asked, her arms folded across her chest.
"An old friend," Celine replied, his grin uncharacteristically wide. "Oliver and I grew up together in the village."
Oliver nodded. "And it looks like you're trying to find your way back there. Lucky for you, I know these woods like the back of my hand. Come on, I'll guide you."
As they followed Oliver through the winding paths, his easy demeanor put everyone at ease. He pointed out landmarks, shared stories about the village, and teased Celine about their childhood antics.
But Mia stayed at the back of the group, watching Oliver with a wary eye. His charm seemed effortless, and that unsettled her.
"You don't trust him?" Sarah whispered, noticing Mia's furrowed brow.
Mia shook her head. "It's not that. I just… I've met people like him before. Too good to be true."
Sarah smirked. "Or maybe you're just scared he'll prove you wrong."
Mia rolled her eyes, brushing off the comment, but her thoughts lingered on Oliver's infectious laugh and the way he seemed to command the forest like it was an extension of himself.
By the time they reached the village, night had fallen, and the stars twinkled brightly in the sky. The sight of the village took Celine's breath away—small, thatched-roof houses lined cobblestone paths, and the faint glow of lanterns lit up the streets.
The villagers welcomed them with open arms, offering food and drink as though they'd been expecting them. It felt like stepping into a memory, vivid and warm.
Mia stayed on the outskirts of the festivities, watching the others immerse themselves in the joy of the moment. She glanced up at the moon, its silver light spilling over the village.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
She turned to see Oliver standing beside her, his expression serene.
"Yeah," she admitted reluctantly.
"You know," Oliver said, leaning on his walking stick, "people who spend too much time looking at the moon often have a story to tell."
Mia raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
He nodded, his eyes searching hers. "The moon listens. But sometimes, it helps to share your story with someone who can talk back."
His words hung in the air between them. For the first time in years, Mia felt the smallest crack in the walls she'd built around her heart.
"I'll keep that in mind," she said softly, before walking away.
Oliver watched her go, a knowing smile on his lips. The festival would come soon enough, and with it, the promises of new beginnings. But for now, under the moonlight, seeds of change had been planted.