first Love

In the quiet of a summer afternoon, we whispered secrets to the rustling leaves. Your laughter danced like sunlight, bright and warm, a melody only we could hear. We carved our names into the old oak tree, etched in time, a promise that felt infinite, yet fragile as a first petal, blooming in the early spring. With every shy glance, the world around us faded, and in that pause, the heart learned its first rhythm, a gentle thump, a sweet ache of possibility.