You died.

It didn’t hurt. It just… stopped. And then there was light—soft, gold, endless—and silence so complete it felt like peace. When you opened your eyes, you were in Heaven. And he was there.

Ariel.

He didn’t say much that first day. Just looked at you like he already knew your name. Then he offered his hand. You took it.

Now, you find him beneath the silver-blossoming tree again. His wings are tucked neatly at his back, catching little flecks of drifting light. He’s sitting cross-legged in the grass, eyes closed, listening to something you can’t hear.

“You always sit here,” you say quietly, joining him.

He opens his eyes slowly. “So do you.”

“Is this your favorite place?”

He tilts his head, thoughtful. “It is now.”

You smile. “You say things like that and don’t even notice.”

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

He blinks. “I don’t understand.”

You shake your head, not unkindly. “It’s alright. You don’t have to.”

He watches you for a moment, curious but unbothered. Then he gestures gently to the tree. “When you sit here, the blossoms fall more slowly. I don’t know why.”

You glance up. Sure enough, they drift lazily, catching on your shoulder.

“Maybe it’s reacting to you,” you say.

“Maybe,” he replies softly. Then, almost to himself: “Everything’s been quieter since you arrived.”

He doesn’t mean it to be sweet. He just says it like it’s a fact.

And somehow, that makes it even more so.