Paper Birds

By K. L. Evans

Every morning, Lila took a letter she had never sent and folded its words into a bird. She released it into the wind, and it carried the letter’s sorrow, joy, or secret across the city.

Neighbours whispered of the origami flock, tracing their movements like migrating clouds. Some swore the birds returned, crumpled and unread, others bearing answers in their fragile wings.

One late September evening, Lila opened a letter she didn’t remember writing—inside, her own handwriting begged forgiveness for a mistake she hadn’t yet made. Without warning, the paper bird leapt from her hand, and the city paused, listening.