Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

That night, William sat cross-legged on the floor of Dahlia’s room, a world map puzzle spread out between them. The lamp beside them cast a warm glow, dancing across the carpet and the pieces that formed continents and seas.
“You know,” he said, tapping the edge of South America with a gnarled finger, “the world out there is full of people waiting to meet you. They just don’t know it yet.”
Dahlia squinted at the puzzle piece in her hand. “Even if they’re far away?”
“Especially if they’re far away,” he said with a soft smile. “Some people are born to stay in one place. Others? They're meant to bloom everywhere.”
She placed a piece into Australia with a satisfying click. “Daddy says the world is scary.”
William paused, his expression softening. “He’s right, in a way. It can be scary. But scary things don’t always mean bad things. Sometimes, they mean we’re about to do something important.”
Dahlia tilted her head. “Like what?”
“Like choosing to trust someone. Or speaking up when your heart’s beating too fast. Or… walking into a room where you don’t know anyone and saying, ‘Hi, I’m Dahlia.’”
She nodded solemnly. “I did that at school.”
“I bet your knees were shaking.”
She giggled. “A little. But I did it anyway.”
William’s eyes crinkled with pride. “Then you’re already halfway to brave, little warrior.”
She looked at him curiously. “Were you ever scared?”
“Oh, all the time,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “I once gave a speech to a thousand people and forgot my opening line. My legs felt like jelly.”
“What did you do?”
“I told them the truth. That I was nervous. And then I smiled and started again.”
Dahlia stared at him in awe. “You’re really strong.”
William reached out and gently tapped her chest. “So are you. Right here.”
In the following weeks, their bond deepened. William made a habit of spending his afternoons with her — reading from thick atlases, showing her how to mix teas from herbs in the garden, or telling stories of his travels. He never treated her like a child who needed protection, but rather like a young explorer preparing for an adventure.
One crisp morning, as they crouched in the greenhouse pruning orchids, Dahlia placed her hand on a drooping purple bloom. Her fingers glowed faintly — warm gold, like sunrise. The orchid stirred… then lifted, fully alive again.
William didn’t flinch.
He simply nodded and said, “You’ve got a gift, my dear. And it’s only just begun to show itself.”
He said nothing else that day — but that evening, he began to draw plans.