By the time the stars blinked open above Alderwood, two friends stood before something ancient, magical, and waiting...

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The Wishing Tree stood deep in the heart of Greymoor Woods, in a clearing most people couldn’t find unless it wanted to be found. Gnarled roots twisted like sleeping serpents, its bark smooth and silvery, as if moonlight had been poured over it. It was said to hum softly if you pressed your ear close enough, as though the tree remembered every wish it had ever swallowed.

Mira and Theo had grown up hearing the tales. Mira believed in them wholeheartedly, Theo, not so much.

“You can’t honestly think it grants wishes,” Theo said as they stepped off the marked trail. “It’s probably just a story made up to stop kids from getting lost.”

Mira gave him a look. “Then why are you here?”

He grinned. “Because *you’re* here. And if I let you wander into a magical forest alone, I’d be a terrible best friend.”

They’d been inseparable since they were five, when Mira threw a pinecone at a boy bullying Theo during recess and then offered him her juice box as a peace treaty. Since then, they’d walked each other home through thunderstorms, nursed broken hearts over mugs of cocoa, and shared dreams whispered between bunk beds and lightning bugs.

But this summer was different.

This summer, Theo was leaving.

His family was moving to the city—two hours away, maybe three. Far enough that weekends would be rare and weekday calls would be squeezed between homework and new routines. Mira hadn’t said how much it hurt. Theo hadn’t said how scared he was to leave everything behind. They just... kept walking. Together. Until now.

“Do you remember where it is?” Theo asked, holding a branch back for her to pass.

“I think so. The stories say it only shows up to those who need it.”

“Well, if that’s true, it should’ve jumped out at us hours ago. I’m covered in mosquito bites and existential dread.”

Mira laughed, but didn’t stop. A golden-orange glow was starting to peek between the trees ahead. “Come on. I think we’re close.”

And they were.

In the next few steps, the dense woods opened into a sudden clearing. Silence fell like a curtain. Birds stopped chirping. The air thickened with something unspoken and deep. And at the center of the clearing stood the Wishing Tree.

It was taller than the tallest oaks, its leaves whispering even though there was no wind. Around it, the ground was soft with moss and old petals. Mira approached first, reaching out a hand and letting her fingers skim the bark.

“It’s warm,” she whispered.

Theo crouched by the hollow at the base. “Looks like it really *is* a mailbox for wishes.”

“I told you,” Mira said, pulling a folded note from the pocket of her hoodie. “I’ve been carrying this for weeks.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “You were *really* serious about this.”

“I *am* serious. Wishes are a form of hope. And hope’s not a joke.”

Theo watched her, his smile fading into something softer. “You always see things differently than I do.”

“That’s because you think the world’s too broken to fix.”

“And you think it’s waiting to be saved.”

She shrugged. “Maybe we’re both right.”

He pulled a crumpled napkin from his backpack and searched his pockets for a pen. “Well, if we only get one wish ever, I should probably get it right.”

While he wrote, Mira closed her eyes and pressed her wish into the hollow. It disappeared almost instantly, drawn into the dark like a message into deep water. Theo joined her a moment later, slipping in his napkin with less ceremony but just as much heart.

Then they sat. Said nothing.

Watched the light shift in the leaves.

Until Theo finally asked, “What did you wish for?”

She smiled without looking at him. “Not allowed to say, remember?”

“You made that rule up.”

“Still counts.”

He chuckled and leaned back on the moss. “Then I’m not telling either.”

They stayed until the stars rose fully and the moon sat fat and content above the trees. When they left, neither looked back.

---

Weeks passed. Then a month. Theo’s family sold their house, packed boxes, and even signed a lease in the city. But days before the move, the company offering Theo’s dad the new job suddenly shut down its relocation program. The city position was gone, but another opportunity appeared—right there in Alderwood. Unexpected. Unplanned.

And perfect.

Theo stayed.

---

Years rolled on.

Mira and Theo went from school projects and shared playlists to long walks under new moons, to tangled hearts and clumsy first kisses. But even as their story grew, neither ever spoke about what they had written that day.

Until Mira stumbled upon it.

They were twenty-four, moving into a tiny apartment downtown together. She was unpacking boxes of books when a napkin fluttered out from between the pages of an old sketchbook Theo had forgotten he owned.

In his familiar, slightly messy handwriting, it read:

“I wish we never have to say goodbye.”

She sat on the floor for a long time after that. The sun poured through the window. Outside, someone was playing guitar badly, and a dog barked joyfully at nothing.

Mira smiled.

Because maybe wishes didn’t always come true with magic and light and sparks in the sky. Maybe they came true in the quiet ways—through patience and time, through forgiveness and choosing each other over and over again.

Maybe the Wishing Tree simply opened the door.

And they had stepped through it.

Together.