There was always something strange about that corner of the garden, a spot that seemed to resist the passage of time and the changing seasons. The wildflowers there grew unchecked, defying even the harshest winters or the most scorching summer droughts. It was as if that small patch of land lay outside the natural cycle, protected by a force no one could understand. In the town of San Isidro, few paid attention to the rumors that circulated about the place. Over the years, all sorts of stories had emerged: some said the land was cursed, others claimed it had been used for ancient, forgotten rituals. But to most, it was nothing more than an overgrown part of the De la Torre family's property, tangled with weeds and plants that no one dared trim.
For Mateo, though, that corner meant something far more. He knew there was something hidden beneath those layers of leaves and twisted branches. Since childhood, he had always felt an inexplicable connection to the place. His mother used to tell him stories about the mysteries of the garden, tales of ancestors who once revered that sacred space, but like most things in San Isidro, those stories faded over time. Life and its demands slowly erased that connection from his mind-until fate drew him back.
Mateo had spent most of his life in that forgotten town, surrounded by routine and the echo of dreams he never dared to pursue. He had once had ambitions, dreams of traveling the world, of being more than just a simple countryman. But life had boxed him into the same decisions that so many before him had been unable to escape. The town was like a trap, gently binding him with promises of comfort and stability. Widowed for five years, with children scattered across the country, and a heart scarred by a single, painful decision made in his youth, Mateo found solace in long afternoons tending to his garden. There, among the soil and plants, he felt he still had control over something in his life. But everything changed the day he ventured into the darkest, most hidden part of his land-the corner he had avoided for years, out of a mixture of fear and reverence.
The plants there were unlike any others. They grew with an inexplicable vigor, as if drawing from an unseen source that only they knew. The roots were thick and gnarled, plunging deep into the earth as though they had been there for centuries, long before the first house in the town was built. The leaves gleamed with a green so deep, it seemed foreign to the hues of the rest of the world. There was a palpable energy in the air, something dense that made Mateo's skin prickle. There was a reason no one in San Isidro dared to step foot in that corner of the garden, and Mateo, unknowingly, was about to discover it.
One autumn afternoon, while brushing aside a strange, knotted branch hanging too low, his fingers accidentally grazed the surface of a plant he had never seen before. It wasn't just the soft touch of the leaf that stopped him-it was the sensation that instantly overtook him. A warmth surged through his arm, slowly climbing up to his chest, as if the plant had transmitted something through the simple contact. That night, his dreams were different. Instead of the usual vague, blurry images that often fill the world of sleep, he saw scenes as clear as daylight-scenes of a life that wasn't his, yet felt deeply his own. There he was, younger, standing in front of the train station where he had once let Elena, his first and greatest love, slip away. But this time, he didn't stand frozen, watching her leave. This time, he ran after her, caught her, and kissed her as if his life depended on it.
