The Garden That Bloomed Only in Dreams

Every night, the dream garden opened its gates to Serin. Flowers glowed like constellations, trees hummed lullabies, and the air shimmered with impossible colors. She tended the garden with care—watering moonflowers with starlight, trimming vines that whispered secrets. One night, she noticed a withered patch of soil. When she touched it, she woke with a start, realizing the barren area mirrored her waking sadness. The next night she returned with determination. Instead of starlight, she watered the soil with her tears, whispering truth instead of hope. Slowly, a single bud emerged—a sign that even sorrow could bloom if tended gently. Over weeks, the garden thrived again, healing as Serin healed. When she awoke one dawn, she found a real flower on her bedside table, proof that the worlds we nurture within ourselves eventually shape the world we live in.