The Orchard of Unspoken Names

Over the next month, some trees grew flowers. Others stayed tangled. Lio stopped treating the orchard as a test she could pass by making the right calls.

She invited her brother to visit. They disagreed about the past. They drank tea. When he saw his name, he ran a hand across the bark and said he had imagined a much smaller tree.

Lio laughed. So did he. Their laughter sounded strange in a place that had held only things unsaid.

She kept the orchard. At the gate, she added a bench and a notice: You do not have to finish the conversation today. The path remained uneven, but it could be walked. In spring, her own tree carried fruit that tasted, unexpectedly, like pears.