Whisper to the wind

The morning sky was pale and quiet, with faint clouds stretching like cotton across the soft blue. It had been over two years since Alice had last seen them—two long years since her world turned dark in a flash of screeching tires, shattered glass, and sirens.

She held Elvin's hand tightly as they walked through the cemetery gates.

Melbourne's cemeteries were vast and green, so different from the crowded, flower-filled graveyards back home. Here, the air was crisp and silent, only the distant rustling of trees and the chirping of birds breaking the stillness.

Elvin said nothing, only guided her gently through the rows. His thumb brushed hers once in a while, grounding her, reminding her that she wasn't alone.

She wore a simple white dress, and in her other hand, she carried a bouquet of pink lilies—her mother's favorite.

As they neared the grave, her steps slowed. Her chest tightened. For a moment, she stopped.

"Elvin," she whispered, voice trembling, "will they… remember me?"

He looked down at her, his eyes softening.

"They never forgot you, Alice. Not for a second. And wherever they are now, they're watching you. Proud."

Her lashes fluttered. Her grip on the flowers tightened.

The graves were side by side—her mother's and her father's. Identical marble headstones etched with their names and the words "Beloved parents and eternal soulmates."

A lump rose in her throat.

She knelt down, placing the lilies carefully at the base. The petals trembled with the wind, much like her own hands.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, voice catching in her throat. "I took so long to come."

Her vision blurred as tears welled up. She didn't remember the last time she'd cried in front of her parents. She had cried for them, countless times—quietly, alone, in the dark—but never to them.

"I… I got better. I can smile again. I go to school. I even wear dresses sometimes…" she let out a soft, broken laugh. "Elvin buys me ballet shoes."

She sniffled and reached out to trace her mother's name with trembling fingers.

"I miss your voice. And the way Dad used to swing me onto his shoulders when I couldn't see the fireworks. And Mama… I still remember your lullaby. Even though I couldn't remember the words, I remember the warmth."

Behind her, Elvin stood in silence. He didn't interrupt. Didn't try to console her. He knew she needed this moment—not with him, but with them.

Alice took a deep breath, tears spilling silently.

"Elvin takes care of me. He combs my hair when it's tangled. He makes eggs every morning, even when they're burnt. And he never forgets my favorite color."

She looked back at him with a teary smile. He met her gaze, expression unreadable—but his eyes shone with emotion.

She turned back to the grave.

"I'm not scared at night anymore. Not when he's home."

She wiped her cheeks and added in a whisper, "I think… you'd both like him."

Elvin's throat constricted. He turned away slightly, pretending to study the distant trees, pretending he wasn't about to break inside.

She sat there for a while, fingers brushing the cool stone, humming softly. The same lullaby. Off-key and incomplete—but from the heart.

When the wind picked up, Elvin stepped forward, draping her light shawl over her shoulders. She didn't look at him, just leaned slightly into his side as he crouched beside her.

"She talks to you often," he said softly, voice thick. "Every time something good happens. Every time she's scared."

He placed a single white rose between the lilies.

"She never forgot you."

Alice closed her eyes.

"I'll come back more," she whispered. "I promise."

And then, she stood, letting her small hand slip into Elvin's.

They walked away slowly, side by side, neither speaking, hearts heavy yet full.

As they reached the cemetery gate, Alice looked up at him.

"Elvin?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you for bringing me."

He glanced down and squeezed her hand. "You brought yourself. I just walked beside you."

That night, she placed a photo of her parents beside her bed. Beside it, she added the one from the parade—Elvin in uniform, her by his side, a flag in her hand.

Two worlds. Two families.

And in the center of it all—her.