Every first snowfall, I climb to the top of Willowbough Hill. The tradition is simple-make a wish, and it will come true.

My parents taught me this ritual when I was small. It was here, on this very hill, that they wished for me. Mom's condition, Asherman's syndrome, made having a child nearly impossible. The scarring in her womb left little hope, yet they believed. And here I stand-proof that some wishes defy the odds.

Years later, my parents passed the tradition on to me before leaving me in charge of their adopted daughter, Kalista. We found her on Willowbough Hill, in the very spot I always visit-lost, weeping, and alone. With no one searching for her, they took her in as their own.

She quickly became the center of their world, filling the space I left behind. I had moved out to pursue my music career, too caught up in its demands to notice the quiet shifts at home. But Kalista? She brought them a kind of joy I hadn't seen in years.

At the height of my fame, surrounded by adoring fans and swept up in the glow of success, I felt all my wishes had already been granted. There was nothing more to ask for.

And just like that, the tradition quietly slipped away, forgotten in the shadow of a life too full to make space for wishes.

I had just returned to Nashville after a piano concert in London. The first snowfall was due any day, and I hadn't made any plans. After unpacking, I set about tidying my small house, hoping to fill the quiet hours.

As I dusted the counters, my phone buzzed, breaking the silence. I picked it up, only to find a message from Kalista. Answer my call, it read-short, urgent, and enough to unsettle me.

"Hello?" I answered, swiping to pick up the call. Since my parents left, Kalista had stayed at our family home in the countryside, looked after by our aunt. Despite living under the same roof for a time, she and I had never truly connected. Now sixteen and in secondary school, she had grown into her own world.

"Hi, Adi! I saw your concert!" she chirped, her voice bright. "It was on television, but it was amazing!"

"Thanks," I murmured, keeping my focus on the task at hand, dusting as I spoke.

"So, it looks like today's the first snowfall," she began.

"And...?" I replied, my voice distant.

"Well," she hesitated, "I was thinking that maybe-just maybe-you could join me at the hill tonight? I know I've asked before, but now that you're back and don't have any concerts lined up, I thought... maybe you'd want to come by."

Her words hung in the air, laced with hope, but I kept my gaze on the floor, unsure how to respond.

I nodded, staying silent. Words felt unnecessary-or perhaps too difficult to find. We'd never been close, and conversations, especially face-to-face, were often strained. The thought of meeting again stirred memories of old misunderstandings, the tension that lingered long after I left for my own place.

"Alright," she said softly. "I'll wait. I'll always wait." A pause, then her voice brightened. "I know you're probably busy. I should go. Bye, sissy!"

The call ended, leaving me in quiet contemplation. I could join her on the hill, sit under the falling snow, and make a wish for her to find her real parents. Or I could stay in, enjoy a warm bed, and finally get a long, uninterrupted sleep.

As the hours slipped by, the air grew colder, biting at the windows. I wrapped myself in a layered jacket, gloves, and a thick blue scarf, hesitating at the door. The decision loomed. By the time I finished dinner, the choice still lingered, heavy and unresolved.

I grabbed my winter hat, bag, and car key, heading towards the garage without another thought. Before I knew it, I was driving back to the countryside, the familiar route pulling me home. Willowbough Hill stood waiting, just beyond my parents' house-a place where time felt slower, quieter.

The grass, still green, seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the first snow to blanket it. Evergreen trees lined the path, their needles dark against the fading light. I walked along the trail, brushing past railings adorned with the last flickering remnants of solar Christmas lights, ones my parents had strung up long ago.

Few ventured here. That solitude was what made the hill ours, a sanctuary untouched by the world beyond.

I climbed the cobbled steps until a figure came into view at the peak. She sat quietly, gazing out over the town below, her voice soft and melodic, drifting through the air like a lullaby to the cold. The red sweater she wore, bright against the dim landscape, gave her away.

"Kalista?" I called out.

She stopped singing instantly, turning towards me with eyes that glimmered, brimming with joy. Behind her stood the weathered tombstone where my parents rested-the place they had always longed for.

"I knew it! I knew you'd come!" she cried, leaping to her feet and wrapping her arms around me in an embrace so fierce it nearly knocked me back. "Thank you! Thank you for coming!"

I forced a smile, though inside I was unsure of what I was truly feeling. As if on cue, the first snowflake drifted down, brushing her shoulder as she held me. A wave of nostalgia hit me, the scene unfolding before me just as I remembered, though I hadn't seen it in years.

"Oh my gosh, it's snowing!" she exclaimed, straightening up, her excitement infectious.

I nodded, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "Go on then, make your wish."

"Do you really believe wishes come true? Do the hills truly listen to us?" she asked softly.

"Why not?" I replied. "I once wished for the life I have now, and it came true."

She gazed up at the sky, her eyes glistening as if on the verge of tears. "You know, Adi, I believe, too," she whispered. "I've had a wish. I ask for the same one every time I come here. And... you know what?" Her gaze turned back to me, and the silence between us thickened.

"What?" I asked, breaking the stillness.

"I think it's going to come true soon," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm scared, but I know it's for the best."

I wanted to ask her what her wish was, but something in the air stopped me. Once again, she embraced me, her head resting against my chest. "I'm glad you came here, Adi. You made me so happy," she murmured, her weight suddenly leaning heavily into me.

"What are you doing?" I asked, gently trying to push her up. That's when I realized something was terribly wrong. She was unconscious.

I checked her pulse-her heart was beating, but she wasn't breathing.

"Kali! Kali, wake up!" Panic surged as I fumbled for my phone and called for help. Trying to steady my hands, I knelt beside her and started CPR. "Kali, please!" My voice cracked with desperation as I pressed down, praying for her to wake.

I tried, again and again, but there was no sign of improvement. Desperation clawed at me. "To the spirit of the hills, please heed my wish. Please... save Kali!" I pleaded.

Just then, the sound of sirens pierced the air. The ambulance arrived, whisking her away to safety.

Auntie arrived shortly after, her face pale with worry. But it was her words that hit me like a freight train. As the clock struck midnight, Auntie revealed something that shattered everything I thought I knew.

It was also then that Kalista's long-awaited wish had finally come true.

I drove home, tears streaming down my face, my mind a storm of confusion and guilt. I couldn't believe what had just happened, and all I could do was blame myself. The road seemed to blur before me, and before I realised it, I lost control of the car. It veered off course, slipping toward the edge of a cliff, tumbling into the darkness below.

In that moment, everything seemed to break loose-memories, regrets, everything I couldn't hold on to. But this wasn't how I wanted it to end.