The Lake Where Wishes Sleep

There was a legend in the town of Silverpine. It said that if you whispered a wish to the lake at midnight, and if your heart was honest, the water would remember it. The townspeople called it the Lake of Sleeping Wishes, because sometimes, when the moon was full, ripples would appear even though there was no wind.

Nora had lived by that lake all her life. She ran a small antique shop by the pier, where she sold forgotten things that once belonged to other people. Watches that no longer ticked, postcards that never reached their destination, and love letters that were never sent. She believed every object carried a story, and she loved giving them new beginnings.

One evening, just as she was closing the shop, a stranger walked in. He was tall, with kind eyes and an old camera slung around his neck. He looked around the shop like someone searching for a memory he had lost long ago.

“Looking for something special?” Nora asked.

“Maybe,” he said. “Something that feels like home.”

She smiled. “That depends on what home feels like to you.”

He paused, glancing at the shelves. “Warm light. Old wood. The sound of water nearby. And someone waiting.”

Nora felt a strange pull in her chest. “The lake might help you find it,” she said softly. “It remembers what people wish for.”

He looked amused. “Does it really?”

“It does for those who believe,” she said.

The man introduced himself as Simon, a travel photographer who had come to Silverpine to capture the mist that rose from the lake at dawn. But as days passed, he found himself photographing everything but the landscape. The small-town bakery. The children skipping stones. Nora laughing as she arranged glass bottles in her window.

He visited the shop every day, always bringing her something small: a pebble, a feather, a photograph. He said it was his way of keeping the stories alive.

“Why do you collect old things?” he asked once.

“Because they hold pieces of love,” she said. “Even when the people are gone.”

“And what about you?” he asked. “What do you wish for?”

She looked toward the lake through the window. “I wished once,” she said. “But I never told anyone what it was.”

“Maybe you should try again,” he said gently.

That night, she walked to the lake. The air was still, the water silver under the moonlight. She closed her eyes and whispered, “I wish for someone who will stay.”

The next morning, Simon came to her shop earlier than usual. He looked different somehow, nervous, hopeful. He handed her a photograph of the lake under the moon. In the reflection of the water, two figures stood side by side.

“I took this last night,” he said. “But I was alone.”

Nora stared at the photo. Her throat tightened. “Maybe not.”

He smiled softly. “Maybe not.”

They began spending evenings by the lake, sitting on the old dock and talking until the stars faded. He told her about the cities he had seen, the people he had met, the loneliness that came with always leaving. She told him about the shop, about the stories she imagined for every forgotten thing she found.

Weeks turned into months. The townspeople began to whisper that the lake had granted another wish.

When winter came, Simon packed his camera and stood by her door. “I have to go for work,” he said. “But I will come back.”

“People always say that,” she said quietly.

He took her hand. “Then I will be the one who means it.”

He left with the first snow.

Spring returned, but he did not. The lake stayed still, quiet, as if asleep again. Nora kept her shop open, but her smile had grown softer, distant. Until one morning, a letter arrived. No return address. Just one photograph inside.

It was the lake at dawn, the light turning gold. And in the corner, two coffee cups on the dock.

On the back of the photo were five words.

“I kept my promise, Nora.”

That evening, when the sun set over Silverpine, people walking by the lake said they saw two silhouettes sitting together on the dock. One of them was holding a camera. The other wore a blue shawl. They were laughing softly, as if time had finally stopped keeping score.

And for the first time in years, the lake rippled under a wind that no one could feel.