The night wraps around the Haul Academy like a velvet cloak, heavy with mist and the faint salt of the nearby cliffs.
It's past midnight, and the campus is dead quiet, save for the distant crash of waves and the occasional creak of old stone settling.
Rossie, a senior with too many thoughts swirling in her mind to sleep, has slipped out of her dorm, driven by the weight of looming exams and the nagging ache of her crush on Michael.
Their laughter from earlier today, bright and carefree in the cafeteria, loops in her mind like a favorite song, making her chest tight with longing.
Her sneakers scuff against the cobblestones as she wanders past the west wing, where ivy chokes the crumbling walls like a lover's embrace.
Then she sees something....like a faint silvery glow flickering through a tangled hedge, a secret beckoning her to uncover it.
With a mix of curiosity and trepidation, she pushes through the thorns, her sweater snagging, until she reaches a rusted iron gate.
It groans as she nudges it open, revealing a garden that seems to pulse with life, a hidden world that doesn't belong in a place like this. Vines twist and curl, glinting faintly under the moonlight, as if they're alive.
Flowers—moonflowers, jasmine, and strange blooms she can't name—dimly pulse with soft light, silver and violet, like they're breathing in sync with her heartbeat.
The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of jasmine and earth, warm and enveloping, curling around her like a lover's whisper.
Her heart skips, not from fear but from the exhilarating feeling that this place is alive, watching her with a knowing gaze.
Then a figure rises from a bed of glowing moonflowers, and she freezes, her breath caught in her throat.
Lo! The Moonlight Gardener. "He's a shadow in a long, dark coat, blending seamlessly into the night, a wide-brimmed hat tilted low to hide his face."
Only the sharp curve of his jaw catches the moonlight, and his gloved hands cradle a luminescent bloom with the reverence one might reserve for a precious gem.
A lantern at his feet spills golden light, making the flowers shimmer like stars fallen to earth.
She braces for a scolding, knowing she's not supposed to be here, sneaking out past curfew in a place steeped in schoolyard rumors of lost love and strange magic.
But the moonlight gardener doesn't yell.
He turns, slow and deliberate, and his shadowed eyes meet hers, a spark igniting in the stillness.
The air shifts like the pause before a storm.
His voice, low and smooth like a late-night radio song, breaks the silence.
"Well, well. She's not supposed to be wandering out here, you know," he says, amusement dancing in his tone, as if he's delighted she found him.
Rossie's mouth goes dry, but she manages a stammer. "I—I didn't mean to. I just… saw the light."
She shifts, suddenly aware of the chill biting through her sweater, the way her heart thuds too loudly in her chest.
He steps closer, gliding silently on the mossy path, the lantern swaying gently in his hand.
The flowers seem to glow brighter as he moves, responding to his presence.
"The light, huh?" he says, his tone playful, like he's teasing her.
"Or maybe she's just restless.
This garden has a way of pulling in folks who can't sleep.
So, what's got her up, hmm?" he asks, his voice a soft challenge.
She swallows, caught off guard by how easily he makes it sound, like they're old friends trading secrets.
"I don't know," she mumbles, glancing at the glowing flower in his hand.
"I just couldn't sleep; I have too much on my mind." She hesitates, then adds, "School. Exams. Stuff like that."
He tilts his head, and she catches a flash of a smile beneath the brim of his hat, a knowing glimmer that makes her feel exposed.
"Stuff like that," he repeats, dragging out the words, teasing her.
"Sounds like there's more to it than tests. Come on; the moonlight gardener," he says softly.
"What's really keeping her up?" He holds up the moonflower, its petals shimmering like liquid starlight, inviting her to share her secrets.
Her cheeks heat up. No way she's telling a stranger about Michael, her crush, and how his smile in history class makes her stomach flip.
Rossie is too scared to say more than two words to him.
But the gardener's gaze, even half-hidden, feels like it's tugging the words out of her.
"It's… someone," she blurts, then winces. "Someone I can't stop thinking about. Okay?"
His smile widens, slow and warm, and her pulse trips over itself.
"Someone," he echoes, his voice dropping, soft and suggestive, as if he's savoring the word.
He steps closer, and now she can smell him—jasmine, earth, something wild that makes her head spin.
He's close enough that she feels the warmth radiating from him, but not so close that she can't still feel the pull.
"That's a good start," he says. "Love's a heavy thing to carry alone. Does this someone know how they're haunting her?"
She shakes her head, clutching her sweater. "No. I…
Her voice is small, but saying it out loud feels like letting go of a breath she's held too long.
He hums, low and thoughtful, and holds out the moonflower.
"Take this, then," he says. As she reaches for it, his gloved fingers brush hers—slow, deliberate, the leather cool yet sparking heat where it touches.
The contact lingers, just a second too long, and her breath hitches. "Careful," he murmurs, his voice a whisper now, like it's just for her.
"This flower's greedy for truths. Tell it more, and it'll shine brighter. Maybe it'll give her courage, too."
She clutches the flower, its warmth sinking into her hands, its glow pulsing like a heartbeat, a promise of something more.
"Why do you care?" she asks, bolder now, the garden's strangeness making her reckless.
"Why are you out here, doing… this?
Who are you, anyway?" she presses.
He laughs, a soft and quiet sound that feels like a secret shared between them.
"Nosy, aren't you?" he teases, stepping back to kneel by another flowerbed, his hands moving with easy grace.
"I like that. As for why…"
He pauses, plucking a petal and twirling it between his fingers, lost in thought.
"People hide in the day behind smiles and pretense, rules, all that school nonsense. Well…
Rossie frowns, not sure if he's dodging or answering.
"That's not a real answer. And you didn't tell me who you are," she insists, her curiosity piqued.
He glances up, and his eyes catch the moonlight, sharp and unreadable, holding secrets she yearns to uncover.
"Maybe I'm just a gardener," he says, smirking.
"Or maybe I'm stuck here, tending to things that bloom where others don't.
If you want my name, then you have to earn it.
Come back tomorrow night." He stands, brushing off his gloves, and the movement feels like a dismissal, but his voice softens, a lingering invitation.
"The garden's got more to say. And so does she, I bet."
She wants to argue, to press for more, but he turns, his coat sweeping like a shadow, blending into the vines.
"Wait," she starts, but the moonlight gardener is gone already, leaving her in the shimmering garden, heart racing and mind swirling with possibilities.
She keeps wondering what kind of creature he is, a guardian of secrets or a figment of her imagination. I must come back, she resolves, as she steps out into the night, the glow of the moonflower warming her palm…