The garden had always been there, hidden behind the old iron gates that everyone said led nowhere. But Elena knew better.
Every night at precisely midnight, the flowers would begin to glow—soft blues and purples that painted the darkness with an ethereal light. She had discovered this place three months ago, purely by accident, when her late-night walk had taken an unexpected turn.
The first time she saw the luminescent blooms, she thought she was dreaming. But night after night, she returned, each time discovering something new. The flowers seemed to respond to her presence, their glow intensifying when she drew near.
Then one night, she found the journal—leather-bound and ancient, tucked beneath a stone bench. Inside were sketches of the flowers, along with notes in a language she didn't recognize. But one word appeared again and again, written in English: 'Remember.'
As she turned the pages, memories that weren't her own began to flood her mind. Memories of another gardener, from another time, who had tended these same flowers. And then she understood—this garden wasn't just a place. It was a keeper of stories, a repository of memories that bloomed anew each night under the moon's gentle gaze.