There is a hill where the sky stretches so wide, it forgets to end. Where clouds drift lazily like dandelion wishes, and the wind is thick with songs left unsung. And on that hill, there lives a tree—not just any tree, but one planted with love, nourished by laughter, and rooted in memories.

  She was planted by a girl named Yongsun.

  But the seed was given by a boy named Jess.

  ?? Back When They Were Just a Dream

  They were children then—two small figures in a vast world. Yongsun, wild-haired and dreamy-eyed, always reaching for the sky. Jess, quiet and kind, humming songs that had no lyrics yet. He found a cherry seed beneath an ancient hawthorn, hidden near a stream that locals said was haunted by stories of old lovers.

  He placed it in Yongsun’s palm and whispered, “I think this is meant for you.”

  Her parents scoffed. “Cherry trees don’t take root here,” her mother said, brushing her hands clean of mud. “Too fragile.”

  But Jess taught her how to plant it anyway. How to press the soil with tenderness. How to water it. How to sing to it.

  Because he believed—no, knew—that songs helped roots grow.

  That night, Yongsun wrote in her journal:

  “One day, I’ll sit under you and sing the songs I haven’t written yet.”

  ?? The Tree That Loved Her First

  The cherry tree was born quietly.

  She drank rain from Yongsun’s joy. She soaked up the warmth of Jess’s guitar strings and lullabies. In the spring, she offered soft pink petals. In the summer, she opened her leaves wide to shield Yongsun from the sun. In the fall, she caught her tears. In the winter, she waited.

  But she couldn’t give fruit.

  She watched other trees produce apples and berries, but she—despite all her effort—could only give flowers.

  Would Yongsun ever be proud of her? Would she leave when the world offered more?

  She was afraid. The tree didn’t know how to speak like people. But she felt.

  That’s when Yongsun brought the bonsai.

  A miniature cherry blossom in a ceramic pot—delicate and shaped by love. “Your husband,” she teased.

  But the tree believed her.

  Because the bonsai sang. He spoke with wind spirits in gentle rustles. He whispered, “My dear wife, don’t worry. We will grow old watching over her. Even when they leave, we’ll still be here.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  ?? Promises and Carvings

  Jess kept visiting the tree.

  Even as they grew older, even as Yongsun became a star whose name echoed from rooftops and radios, he never forgot to return.

  He’d sit by her roots and speak softly.

  “She wants to get married here,” he said one dusk, brushing bark with reverence. “She says it’s the only place that’s always felt real.”

  “We’re going to carve our names here—Jess loves Yongsun. She says it’s cheesy, but her eyes shine when she says it.”

  Sometimes, he’d add, “She can’t have kids right now. Too many things going on. But she wants to. One day.”

  And the tree believed him.

  Because everything he promised—he did.

  ?? Yongdong, Yongkey, and Songs Beneath Petals

  Then came the dogs: Yongdong and Yongkey, two wild bundles of joy that raced around the hill like they belonged to the wind.

  The cherry tree tolerated them. Their barking shook her branches, but their joy made her sway.

  And later—after many seasons—came the children.

  A daughter, full of stories and paint. She named the tree Halmeoni, Grandma Tree. She tied ribbons to her limbs and kissed her trunk.

  A son, stubborn and sensitive. He never said sorry out loud, but after every tantrum, he’d return and slide a note into her roots:

  “Tell Mommy I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll do better next time.”

  “Can I still sit here with you?”

  The tree never answered in words. But her blossoms always opened early when he did.

  ?? The Artist and Her Flame

  Yongsun never forgot.

  Even at the height of her fame, when cities begged for her voice, when billboards bore her name, she returned.

  With sketchpads. With tired eyes. With silence.

  She painted under the tree. She composed songs while her fingers brushed fallen petals from her lap. Jess sat beside her with his guitar, strumming soft lullabies as she rested her head on his shoulder.

  They made love under her once.

  In spring. Petals caught in hair and breath.

  “Let’s grow old here,” Yongsun whispered.

  “We already are,” Jess smiled.

  ? A Tree Born of Magic

  The cherry tree was more than bark and leaves.

  She had been planted on a leyline, a sacred place where love once bloomed and was lost too soon. In another life, Yongsun and Jess had loved each other but never had enough time.

  In this life, the seed found its way back to her.

  And when Jess and Yongsun grew old, they returned to the hill. Not as performers, but as lovers.

  They were buried beneath her roots, hand in hand.

  On their gravestone:

  She was the sun.

  He was her song.

  And still, every spring, the cherry tree blooms.

  The dogs’ grandchildren bark at the breeze. The bonsai still hums on the porch, its leaves silvering with age.

  The children come to picnic, to sing, to cry, to remember.

  And every year, someone reads aloud the lullaby that Yongsun and Jess once sang beneath the petals.

  ?? Lullaby Beneath the Blossoms

  8-Stanza Version

  Back when we were just a dream,

  Two kids lost in summer stream,

  You smiled and time forgot to run—

  Now we shine beneath the sun.

  You were the bird upon my limb,

  Love like lanterns never dim.

  Now I'd brave the storms and tide,

  Just to keep you by my side.

  I missed the signs, I missed the rain,

  But I won’t miss your smile again.

  I’ll be your light when stars don't gleam,

  The one who guards your every dream.

  My cherry bloom, in spring’s perfume,

  You turn our silence into bloom.

  Even if the world grows tall,

  We’ll love you gently through it all.

  You are the note within our song,

  The place where quiet hearts belong.

  A tiny voice, a sleepy sigh,

  That melts the frost and lifts the sky.

  We’ll hold your hand when dreams seem far,

  And kiss your cheeks where wishes are.

  You are our dawn, our brightest part,

  The seed of love within our heart.

  When you feel small, when days feel cold,

  Remember blossoms that we hold.

  Seasons change, but not our tune—

  We’ll find our spring beneath this moon.

  Even if you one day stray,

  We’ll light the path to lead your way.

  With every leaf, and petal’s sway—

  We’ll love you more than words can say.

  Jessprosia. I’ll be doing story readings, episodic narrations, and poetic recitations there very soon. Your support means everything—every view, like, and follow helps breathe life into these tales. Thank you for being part of this journey with me.

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oq__TtONzm8