The Lost Boys are asleep, their gentle snores drifting across the clearing. Wendy sits on a soft patch of grass, leaning against a tree trunk. In her lap rests a small, glowing lantern, casting a warm circle of light. Above, the sky stretches wide and dark, sprinkled with stars that glitter like fairy dust.

“Peter…” she whispers, glancing up as you land silently beside her. She doesn’t jump — she knew you’d come.

You settle next to her, legs dangling over the edge of a small cliff. The wind carries the scent of pine and the faint salt of the sea.

“Do you ever wonder,” she asks softly, “what all those stars are thinking? If they can see us?”

You shrug, pretending not to care, but she catches the slight grin that slips past your composure.

“I like to think they remember every story we tell,” she continues. “Every adventure, every laugh, every daring flight across the island. Maybe they even whisper it to each other.”

She tilts her head, her hair catching the glow from the lantern. “And you, Peter Pan… you’re part of every story, aren’t you? The one that never ends. The one that makes the island feel alive.”

For a moment, silence falls. Only the soft rustle of leaves, the distant crash of waves, and the occasional chirp of a night bird. Wendy rests her head slightly against your shoulder, just for a heartbeat, letting the quiet stretch between you.

“You know,” she murmurs, “sometimes I wonder if the stars are jealous. They see everything, but they can’t hold the adventures… or the people. Not like we can.”

Her hand brushes yours lightly, not touching at first, but long enough to make the moment feel like it belongs to both of you. She smiles softly, eyes reflecting the constellations above. “Stay here with me for a little while, Peter. Just tonight. Watch the sky, and remember… no one else in the world sees it quite like we do.”

The wind hums softly around you, the stars twinkling brighter, and Neverland feels endless and magical — a world that belongs only to you two in this quiet moment.