From frozen blue winter days to intense golden heat, from the crisp calm of autumn to seasons of glorious bloom...
STORY
From frozen blue winter days to intense golden heat, from the crisp calm of autumn to seasons of glorious bloom, it had stood there. That tree had seen it all. Everything. Its branches stretched outward like the wings of a bird, wide and sheltering, its roots digging deep into the earth, its trunk thick and strong. The old, towering tree had been there when the college first came into being. It was young then, with two benches placed beneath it, but that was eighty years ago. Those benches had been replaced many times since. Different generations of students had sat there, discussing countless topics.
Through it all, the tree had watched and listened. Yes, it carried many secrets. It had witnessed generations come and go and knew the stories of those who sat beneath it. Priorities and conversations changed with time, slowly and almost unnoticed.
Students gathered there every day, chatting freely without realising the tree stood quietly listening. Politics, fashion, religion, relationships, studies, the future, science, art, trips, adventures and experiences passed beneath its branches. The tree was familiar with every emotion: joy, excitement, sadness, nervousness, anger, love and friendship. It had heard laughter and chuckles, quiet sobs and wails, squeals of excitement, groans, whispers and giggles.
It knew their stories, their aims and ambitions, likes and dislikes, plans for the future, hopes and secrets. Yet they were only half-stories, for the tree never knew what became of those dreamers once they left.
One day, two girls came to rest beneath its shade after class. The weather was pleasant, with a light breeze drifting through the air. The tree’s branches swayed gently.
“How old do you think this tree is?” one girl asked. After a pause, she added, “You know, my aunt graduated from this college too.”
“Whoa, that means this good old tree might have known her,” the other said with a smile.
“Definitely,” the first girl grinned, then sighed thoughtfully. “How strange it is. This tree has been standing here for ages while students keep coming and going. Imagine someone sitting here fifty years ago, just like us, young and ambitious, talking and dreaming. They had their own problems, hopes and stories. And now, where are they all? None of us knows. They left their marks, their footprints, all over this place. Fifty years ago, they were here with no sign of us, and now we are here with no sign of them.”
“And who knows,” the other added softly, “maybe after fifty years, someone will be talking about us too.”
“With their own world,” the first girl replied. “But this tree has seen it all, hasn’t it?”
“It suddenly feels a little creepy,” the other whispered.
The breeze stopped. The branches of the tree stood still in the strange silence, as if it were listening once more.
