Edward was a kind man, though few people truly understood his kindness. The misunderstandings left wounds no one else could see.
He had one place that could heal them.
A weathered bench beneath an old tree. Whenever he sat there, the wind would brush across his face like a gentle hand, lifting away the weight of the day. In those moments, a soft, peaceful smile would settle on his lips - pure and unguarded.
One afternoon, the wind carried more than comfort. A small bird tumbled from the branches above, injured and trembling.
Edward brought it home. He cleaned its wounds, fed it, and kept it warm through the night. Slowly, the bird recovered. And every time Edward entered the room, it sang - a bright, clear melody that filled the quiet spaces inside him.
He fell in love with that song.
He bought a cage, not out of cruelty, but out of a desire to keep the healing close. The tree and its wind were no longer necessary. The bird's voice had become enough.
Days turned into weeks. Edward's love deepened. He spoke to the bird, cared for it with tender hands, and found peace in its presence.
Then one evening he returned home to find another bird perched outside the window. His own bird was singing back to it - their voices weaving together in pure harmony.
Something sharp twisted in Edward's chest.
For the first time in his life, anger flared. He shouted and waved his arms until the stranger flew away.
After that, the cage fell silent.
The bird tried again and again to reach the window. Edward tried everything - fresh seeds, new toys, soft words, even leaving the cage door open for short moments. Nothing worked. The songs had stopped.
Until one quiet afternoon, he came home and heard it again.
He rushed to the cage, heart lifting - only to see his bird staring fixedly at the window. Outside, the other bird waited, head tilted in patient hope.
A dark, unfamiliar heat rose in Edward's chest. Jealousy. Possession. Fear.
He opened the cage door with trembling fingers and gently lifted the bird into his hands. Its heartbeat fluttered against his palm.
He did not want to open the window.
But he did.
The bird hesitated only a moment, then launched into the air. It joined the other without looking back, their wings catching the light as they disappeared together.
The pain that followed was not from the empty cage. It was from the silence left behind.
Edward stood at the open window long after they had gone, tears tracing slow paths down his face. He reached to close it, then stopped. With a heavy breath, he left it open - a quiet, aching invitation he knew might never be accepted.
The bird never returned.
A few days later, Edward went back to the bench beneath the tree. He sat in the same spot, hoping the wind would work its old magic.
It brushed against his face as it always had.
But this time it felt empty. Lifeless.
He sat there for a long while, then stood without the smile he once carried home. The wounds felt deeper now, and the wind no longer knew how to heal them.
