Where the Flowers Grow

(9)
  • 3.2k
  • 0
  • 916

About the Story  After losing both her parents, sixteen-year-old Mehar is left with a quiet village house, walls that remember their voices, and a dream her father never got to finish.She is gentle, thoughtful, observant-the kind of girl who carries silence like a language.And though her days are filled with the things they left behind,she's not sure what to do with what lies ahead.When the silence of the old farmhouse across the road begins to shift,Mehar finds herself pulled toward something she can't name.Will she fulfill her father's dream?Will she find love?Or will both slip quietly through her hands?A story about

1

Where the Flowers Grow - 1

About the StoryAfter losing both her parents, sixteen-year-old Mehar is left with a quiet village house, walls that remember voices, and a dream her father never got to finish.She is gentle, thoughtful, observant-the kind of girl who carries silence like a language.And though her days are filled with the things they left behind,she's not sure what to do with what lies ahead.When the silence of the old farmhouse across the road begins to shift,Mehar finds herself pulled toward something she can't name.Will she fulfill her father's dream?Will she find love?Or will both slip quietly through her hands?A story about ...Read More

2

Where the Flowers Grow - 2

Chapter 2: Threads That HoldMehar's POVAfter I finish cleaning, I head to the hand pump. It stands just beside washroom tucked under the stairs—familiar, stubborn, a little crooked now. I grip its cold metal handle and begin to press. It groans, as if woken too early, but then—water rushes out in a quick burst, splashing into our old peetal bucket. Its rim is dented, its belly bruised from years of use, but it still holds strong.I carry the filled bucket inside, the weight of it pressing against my wrist. The bricks beneath my feet are cold and a little ...Read More

3

Where the Flowers Grow - 3

Chapter 3Butterfly Clips and Broken WingsMehar's POVThe path to work always feels the same, like a prayer whispered into But this morning, the air carries a stillness that brushes against my cheek, and I slow down without meaning to.It’s February—the kind that still clings to winter, but lets spring peek in gently through cracks in the wind.Our house opens directly into a narrow street lined with small homespressed shoulder to shoulder, like they’ve grown up together. Their slanted roofs are stitched with tarps and old bricks to keep out the winter wind. Walls are painted in sky blue, faded ...Read More