Chapter 9: The Garden Gate

Elijah didn’t know why he asked the driver to stop.

They were meant to go straight to the foundation meeting more press, more pretending. But when they passed the side road near the edge of the city, something inside him twisted.

“Turn here,” he said.

The driver gave him a look in the mirror but followed the order.

Elijah stared out the window. The trees grew thicker here. The buildings dropped away. Fewer people. Just quiet roads and overgrown fences.

He didn’t know what he was looking for. But his chest hurt.

It felt like homesickness except he didn’t know what home was anymore.

Then, he saw it.

A small iron gate. Rusted. Twisted by time and vines.

“Stop,” Elijah said.

The car rolled to a slow stop. He got out.

Wind blew through the trees. Leaves danced at his feet.

He walked up to the gate.

There was a path behind it. Cracked stone. Half-covered in moss.

And something tugged at him.

His fingers touched the iron.

Then a memory slammed into him.

Not full. Not clear.

But sharp. Like a cut.

He saw himself younger. Standing right here. Laughing.

Gabe was with him.

They were holding hands.

They had come here before.

This was their place.

He opened the gate. It creaked loud in the silence.

He walked slowly down the path. His feet knew the way, even if his mind didn’t.

At the end of the path was a small garden. Wild now. Forgotten.

But the shape of it was still there flowers in a circle. A wooden bench under the willow tree.

He walked toward the bench.

Sat down.

Put his hands in his lap.

Then he cried.

Not loud. Not hard.

Just quiet tears.

Like his body remembered what his mind couldn’t.

Like grief had been waiting behind a door, and someone finally opened it.

Later, Gabe found him still sitting there.

He had followed the driver’s pin after the meeting was missed.

When he saw Elijah on the bench, shoulders curled, head down something inside him cracked too.

Gabe didn’t speak at first.

He just sat beside him.

They sat in silence.

Elijah spoke first.

“This place…”

Gabe nodded. “You built it. For me. For us.”

Elijah looked at him. “I remember… the smell. The way the grass felt under my shoes. The day we planted that tree.”

He pointed.

The tree had grown. Thick. Heavy with shade.

“You were barefoot,” Gabe said, a small smile touching his face. “You said shoes were a prison for the soul.”

Elijah let out a soft laugh, tearful. “Sounds like me.”

They were quiet again.

Then Elijah said, “I didn’t want to forget you.”

Gabe looked at him. “I didn’t want to let go.”

“I’m scared,” Elijah whispered.

“Me too.”

Elijah turned to him.

Their eyes met.

And this time the space between them didn’t feel like a lie.

It felt like a bridge.

Small. Shaky. But real.

Gabe reached out and took his hand.

And for the first time in three years, Elijah didn’t pull away.

knowing what is happening love actually is a unique real thing but sometimes has great up an d down, know the fact that Elijah has a lost of past and secret hidden but knowing gebe has it's own past as well,

The rain always found them,

They sat in the same corner, never speaking of the lives they hid.

A ring on one hand.

A photograph in the other’s wallet.

Eyes lingering too long.

No promises, no touch only an ache carried home.

The rain stayed.

And so did they.