The Bridge of Whispering Stones

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It is said that whoever crosses it once carries a song within their chest that can only be heard in silence. The Bridge of Whispering Stones lies hidden between two hills, spanning a stream that thinks more than it speaks. It is ancient—built not of wood or iron, but of smooth, round stones that seem like pebbles from dreams. Some believe it was made of river words that no one understands anymore. The stones whisper. Not loudly—more like a memory almost forgotten. Those who walk across it barefoot feel stories rising, warmth tingling beneath their feet. Some hear voices, others melodies, still others only their own hearts—but different. Deeper. As if it were made of water. The bridge connects not only two banks, but also times. On some nights, when the fog is as heavy as silence, you can see children long forgotten dancing on it. Or lovers who met there when their names still lived in tree bark. And sometimes an old man with bird's eyes who places pebbles in the pockets of dreamers. It is said that the stones retain everything one thinks while sitting on them. That's why many walk across them with empty minds—for fear of revealing something. But the brave ones who let their worries, wishes, or poems flow are rewarded: with clarity, with softness, with something they cannot name. Lyora once—barefoot, with her hair down and her eyes closed—walked across the bridge and stopped. She listened. And the stones whispered to her a story no one had ever written. When she reached the other shore, she had tears on her cheek and a smile that reached to the sky. The bridge remains silent if you don't want to hear it. But to those who open it, who pause and truly listen, it will sing to them. Very quietly. Very close.