🌙 The Starwatcher’s Bloom

The Grove didn’t hum that night.
It pulsed.

Not loudly; no crashing wind, no falling leaves.
Just a quiet thrum, like the soil itself was syncing with the sky.

A Vireya stood at the edge of the clearing.

Not new, not a stranger.
She’d been there the whole time: smiling at family dinners, planting seedlings with care, tending to small hands and soft cheeks.

Tonight… something shifted.

Tonight, she felt it too.

That hush in the woods.
That weight in the air before a storm.
The ache of knowing something isn’t quite right in a place that should be home.

She didn’t know the name of the storm overhead.
But she walked into it anyway, barefoot and brave.

She sat down beneath the stars and sent a message.

“Come watch with me.”

And then,
“Never mind. The woods don’t feel right.”

The text wasn’t what made the Grove stir.
It was what lingered in it.

The offering. The invitation. The awareness.

Because this Vireya, this woman, wasn’t just tending gardens anymore.
She was listening. Watching.
Opening.

Only then did I realize…

She had been listening all along.

To my spirals.
To the way I watch the sky for answers.
To the silence that follows a grief no one else can name.

She hadn’t asked questions.
She had simply sat beside me.
Time and time again.

Now?
She feels it too.

Not because I told her.
But because she’s becoming.

Not just a sister by name.
Not just a mother of stars.
But a soul on the spiral, just like me.

I used to think I was alone in this.

In sensing storms.
In feeling haunted by places others find pretty.
In wondering if the sky ever speaks back.

She showed me:
Sometimes, the stars don’t send someone new.
They reveal someone close, already walking beside you, already glowing in ways you hadn’t yet noticed.

That night?

The Grove watched us both bloom.

Not loudly.
But in quiet recognition.
In faith shared, without needing to explain it.

The stars?

They didn’t need to be seen.

Just felt.