The distant call of Lily’s voice drifted through the trees, filled with worry.

“Leo! Come back!” his grandmother’s voice followed, trembling with concern.

Leo spun around at once and bolted toward the sound.

 “Mom!” he cried, relief flooding his small voice.

Up high in the branches, Rowan sat perched like a shadow, one knee drawn up as his sharp eyes tracked the boy.

Lily dropped to her knees the moment Leo came into sight, wrapping him tightly in her arms. His grandmother stood beside her, her shoulders sagging with relief.

“Sweetheart, where did you go?” Lily asked, her voice shaking.

“We were looking all over for you,” his grandmother added softly.

Still breathless, Leo pulled back just enough to speak. “Mom, I met someone!”

Lily’s face tensed at once, her eyes narrowing in concern. “What?”

From his perch in the tree, Rowan’s gaze sharpened. That little snitch…

“He was with me, but he just disappeared,” Leo explained quickly, glancing back toward the forest.

His grandmother gave him a gentle, almost pitying smile. 

“Leo, there aren’t any kids around here.”

“But… I saw him,” Leo insisted, desperation edging his voice. “He was—”

Before he could finish, Lily rested a hand on his head, smoothing his hair. 

“Honey, your grandma is right. There’s no one here except her.”

In the shadows of the tree, Rowan leaned against the trunk with his arms folded, his expression unreadable. It’s not that big a deal to see me… right?

Leo’s small shoulders slumped. He lowered his gaze, confusion swirling in his eyes.

But I saw him…

His grandmother slipped her shawl from her shoulders and draped it gently over him.

“Let’s get you inside. It’s cold out here.”

“Come on,” Lily said softly, guiding him back toward the house with a hand on his back.

Rowan remained hidden in the branches above, his piercing eyes never leaving the warm light of the home. His jaw tightened. 

Now I have some explaining to do…

----

The next morning, Leo returned to the place where he met Rowan…

He stopped at the cliff’s edge, where the view stretched wide and endless beneath the clear sky. The space was empty, silent except for the whisper of the breeze. Leo’s eyes searched eagerly, scanning every corner.

But Rowan wasn’t there. Or so he thought…

Hidden above in the thick branches of a tree, Rowan sat cloaked in shadow, his gaze steady and unreadable.

 Didn’t think he’d come back, he thought, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

Leo lowered himself onto a nearby rock, pulling his legs close to his chest. His shoulders sank as his expression softened into disappointment. 

Was he not happy to see me?

After a long moment, he stood and brushed off his pants.

 "I’ll just come back tomorrow…” he murmured, his voice carrying softly into the quiet air.

-----

And he did.

The next day, Leo returned.

And the day after that.

And the day after that…

Each time he came back to the cliff, he found only silence waiting for him. He lingered under trees, sat on the familiar rock, or simply watched the horizon as though it might bring Rowan back.

What he didn’t know was that high above, hidden in shifting branches, Rowan’s eyes followed him. Silent. Distant. Always there, but never close enough for Leo to see.

Days passed like that.

One afternoon, Leo sat quietly on the front porch of his grandmother’s house, his chin tucked onto his knees. His thoughts weighed heavy, his heart sinking lower with each unanswered visit.

 Was it just my imagination…? he wondered. 

Then, more firmly: Today is the last day.

The door creaked open behind him. His grandmother appeared with a plate in hand, her voice warm and cheerful.

 “Leo, come have some cookies!”

Leo looked up, forcing a small smile. 

“Yes, Grandma,” he answered softly.

Inside, he sat at the wooden table, nibbling absently at the cookies. His gaze wandered toward the window, where the old mailbox stood just outside.

Slowly, his eyes widened. A spark of determination flickered in his chest. 

That’s it… I’ll just write him a letter.

Leo pushed his chair back suddenly, a burst of energy taking hold. 

“Grandma, I’ll be up in my room!” he called.

“Okay, little one!” she replied warmly from the kitchen.

He hurried upstairs, determination etched across his face. In his room, he went straight to the small desk tucked beneath the window. His hands snatched up a sheet of paper and a pen, his heart thumping with both excitement and nerves.

Sitting down, Leo held the pen above the blank page, his brows furrowed. The silence of the room pressed around him. He didn’t know what to say. But he knew what he felt.

The pen tapped lightly against his chin as he hesitated. What if he never reads it? the thought whispered.

Still, he lowered the tip of the pen to the paper. In careful, neat handwriting, he began:

“Hi… It’s me, Leo.”

His brow knit tighter as he leaned over the desk, words slowly beginning to take shape.

Leo bent closer to the page, his hand moving slowly as he wrote.

“I don’t know if you’re real… or just someone I dreamed about.”

He paused, biting his lip, the pen hovering again. His chest felt tight, but he pressed on.

“But I keep coming back because I want to see you again.”

A small smile tugged at his lips as he continued.

“You were the only one who looked kind of sad… and kind of strong.”

With a final stroke, he signed the letter neatly at the bottom:

“Your maybe-friend, Leo.”

He folded the paper carefully, smoothing down each crease as though it were something precious. Sliding it into a small envelope, he held it against his chest for a moment before rushing to his feet.

He darted outside, the wind tousling his hair as he clutched the envelope tightly. His steps carried him back to the forest path, to the cliff, and to the great tree where he had first met him.

Kneeling at the base of the tree, Leo placed the letter gently in the grass.

“I hope you see this…” he whispered.

Leo lingered for a moment, his small figure framed by the forest as he glanced back one last time. The envelope rested quietly at the foot of the tree, waiting. With a soft sigh, he turned away and walked home, his steps light but his heart heavy with hope.

The forest grew still after he left, the only sound a breeze whispering through the leaves.

Then, from the shadows, a hand emerged. Rowan’s slender fingers brushed against the envelope before picking it up. He turned it over once, eyes narrowing at the neat handwriting on the front.

“Your maybe-friend, Leo”… huh?

His expression gave nothing away as he unfolded the paper. His eyes scanned each line, the words simple yet earnest. Slowly—almost imperceptibly—the hardness around his features loosened.

…Stupid kid.

He tucked the letter carefully into his pocket, his gaze drifting out toward the endless stretch of forest.

Guess I’ll let him see me again… just once.

-----

The next morning, the sunlight fell soft and golden across the small clearing by Leo’s grandmother’s house. Leo stood by the car with his little backpack slung over his shoulders, his face turned toward the trees one last time. His heart clung to the hope that Rowan had found his letter.

Behind him, Lily embraced her mother gently.

“Mom, we’ll be leaving now.”

Grandmother’s warm eyes shifted to her grandson. She reached out, cupping his cheek with a smile.

“Take care of my little star for me.”

“I will, Mom,” Lily replied softly.

Leo pressed his little hands against the window as the car rolled forward.

“Goodbye, Grandma!” he called, his voice bright but tinged with reluctance.

His grandmother waved until the car disappeared down the path.

“Goodbye, Leo. Come again soon,” she whispered, her smile soft and lingering.

----

That evening, silence wrapped around the small house. The forest hummed with the steady chorus of crickets beneath the faint glow of the moon.

On the porch, Grandmother sat quietly, shawl pulled close against the chill as she sipped from a steaming cup of tea. Her gaze drifted into the darkness.

From the shadows, Rowan emerged. His steps were soundless, his presence cautious, as though he belonged to the night itself.

Without turning, the grandmother’s voice broke the stillness.

“I knew you would come,” she said, calm and certain.

Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”