Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 23: Chapter 23

The coastal air in Arnhem Land shimmered with a quiet kind of power — sea breeze mingling with the red dust of country that had breathed longer than memory. Dahlia and Amy had come to help with water filtration and health care, but what they found was more than a mission. It was a heartbeat older than history.
“Don’t step there,” warned Auntie Marra, an Elder with sharp eyes and sharper words. “That’s old earth. Sacred.”
Dahlia stepped back instantly. “Sorry. I didn’t see—”
“You saw. Just didn’t know what you were seeing,” Auntie said, then added with a wink, “Now you know.”
Dahlia gave a respectful nod. “Thank you for teaching me.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Auntie muttered. “Wait till the land teaches you.”
Jack & Amy’s First Meeting (Expanded)
Their first encounter happened behind a dune-stabilization tent, where Amy was distractedly adjusting a drone camera.
Crunch.
She tripped over a strange-looking coral fragment laid carefully on a canvas mat.
“Whoa—hey—careful!” a voice barked.
Strong hands steadied her. She looked up into ocean-colored eyes.
“That’s from a reef shelf dated 160,000 years back,” he said, brushing dust off it like it was a child.
Amy blinked. “Well now it’s touched my clumsy foot. Sorry. Do you collect ancient things to impress people, or just for fun?”
Jack raised a brow. “Depends who I’m trying to impress.”
She laughed despite herself. “Amy.”
“Jack.” He grinned. “Marine biology. Cultural restoration on the side. You?”
“Disaster prevention, mostly. Sometimes botany. Bit of mischief.”
The Bush Encounter
Days later, Jack followed Dahlia into the bush to help with a limping kangaroo caught in wire. He expected a splint, maybe antiseptic.
What he saw was different.
Dahlia knelt in the shade of a eucalyptus tree, her palm resting gently against the kangaroo’s side. A faint violet glow lit the soil. Flowers opened in her wake. The animal stirred, breathing easier.
Jack froze. “That’s… incredible.”
Dahlia looked up quickly, eyes guarded.
Amy stepped between them. “Jack,” she said evenly, “please. You didn’t see anything.”
Jack held up both hands. “She’s helping. That’s all I need to know.”
Dahlia searched his face for fear, suspicion — found none. Just wonder.
Bonding Under Stars and Gum Trees
Evenings brought warmth, firelight, and stories.
Jack and Amy sat shoulder to shoulder, sipping lemon myrtle tea as Auntie Marra told Dreamtime tales about the Rainbow Serpent and how the stars came to dance in the sky.
“You listening, city kids?” Auntie said, eyes on Jack.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, nodding. “Even the coral listens.”
She snorted. “You’ve got some smarts. Don’t waste them.”
Later that night, under a dome of stars:
“You’re quiet tonight,” Jack said.
Amy hugged her knees. “I’ve never had this before. Something easy. Safe.”
“You don’t have to be perfect around me.”
“I want to tell you everything,” she whispered. “About Dahlia. About what we do. What she is.”
Jack turned toward her, eyes calm. “Then tell me.”
“You won’t run?”
“I’d run with you,” he said simply. “Not from you.”
A Moment of Trust
Back at the tent, Amy turned to Dahlia.
“I trust him,” she said softly.
Dahlia didn’t speak for a moment. Then she reached for her silver pendant and unclasped it.
“Then I do too,” she said, handing Amy a small pouch filled with rose seeds. “Just in case.”
The Proposal
One week later, they walked down to the beach under a sky shimmering with bioluminescence — blue light sparking across wet sand like spilled stars.
Jack stopped, heart pounding. “Amy.”
She turned.
“I’ve been around coral reefs my whole life,” he said, voice shaking slightly. “They take time. They’re fragile. But once they root… they build entire worlds.”
He dropped to one knee, pulling a small carved ring from his pocket — shell, smoothed by years of tide.
“I don’t have gold. But I have this. And I have you. Will you marry me?”
Amy covered her mouth, stunned. “Yes,” she whispered. “God, yes.”
They laughed, kissed, stumbled in phosphorescent sand.
Behind them, Dahlia watched from a dune, her smile soft and full.
She walked down, pulled them both into an embrace, and whispered:
“This… this is what we fight for.”
Background Voices Around the Fire
That night, as the fire cracked and cicadas sang:
Auntie Marra smirked. “You two gonna be dancing spirits now?”
“Probably,” Amy said, flushed and beaming.
“Long as you don’t forget where your roots are,” Auntie added.
“We won’t,” Dahlia promised.
Young Luka, one of the kids who followed them everywhere, asked, “Will you plant magic flowers at your wedding?”
Jack grinned. “Only if she lets me wear a cape.”
Amy laughed. “Absolutely not.”
Their final evening in Australia hummed with music, stories, and firelight. Children danced barefoot in the dust, swinging glowing seed-pod lanterns. Jack and Amy stayed close, hands knotted like vines, while Dahlia helped Auntie Marra hang eucalyptus branches over the last ceremonial fire.
“You’ve done good,” Auntie said. “But your work’s not done.”
“I know,” Dahlia said softly.
“New York, isn’t it? Heard the city hums like it’s trying to drown out its own heartbeat.”
Dahlia looked up. “We’ll listen for it anyway.”
Marra gave her a pouch of dried leaves. “Burn these when you need to remember who you are.”
Dahlia nodded, her throat tight.
They hugged farewell after sunrise. Jack stood beside Amy, both of them still glowing in the gentle way only new love can.
“You’ll call?” he asked.
Amy kissed his cheek. “You’ll wish I hadn’t stopped.”
As they climbed into the departing jeep, Luka ran up to Dahlia.
“You’ll come back?”
She knelt. “Of course. There’s still healing to do.”
He looked around. “Even here?”
She pressed a tiny flower into his palm. “Especially here.”
As they pulled away, the breeze carried children’s laughter and the smell of lemon myrtle. The red earth receded, replaced by clouds and steel and something colder ahead.
Letter Home – From Dahlia
Dear Dad,
We’re leaving Australia now. I’m writing this from a quiet corner of the airport while Amy’s asleep on my shoulder. Her hand hasn’t left the ring Jack gave her — not once. It suits her, doesn’t it? Something strong and simple. Something with history in it.
Australia was kind to us. The land feels old and wise. It didn’t ask us to save it — just to listen, and act with care. Auntie Marra taught me how silence speaks louder than words. And the children… they taught me how to laugh again.
But New York is next. The mission brief came in late last night — there’s been an earthquake in the Lower East Side. Infrastructure’s barely holding. They’re sending in civilian rescue, but we’re going in with different eyes. Ours.
Something about this one feels different. Like it’s not just stone that cracked.
I keep thinking about what Jack said — that reefs take centuries to form, but only days to crumble. I wonder if hearts are the same.
Tell Eliot and Theo I haven’t cracked yet. Tell Christian that Amy’s faster than ever. Tell William the flower in his old journal bloomed for the first time. And tell you… that I’m still trying to carry the light. Still yours. Still learning.
Love,
Dahlia