Chapter 1: The Yellow Wall.

Linda Carter sat in the back seat of a taxi. She looked outside the window. The trees passed slowly. The air was quiet. The small town looked almost the same, but it also felt very far away now. Linda was seventy-two. She had not been here for more than fifty years.

Today, she was coming back—for the last time.

Her childhood house was going to be broken down. The government had sold the land. But before the house was gone, she wanted to see it once more. One last visit. One last look at her memories.

The taxi stopped in front of a small white gate. Linda stepped out slowly. Her legs were not strong now. The gate was old. The paint was coming off. Grass had grown tall around it. But the gate was still there. She smiled.

She walked into the yard. There was a swing under the big tree. It moved a little in the wind. She remembered sitting there with her brother. They used to laugh and play. It felt like another life now.

The house looked tired. The color on the walls was fading. But it was still her house. The same windows. The same steps. She touched the wall near the door. It felt warm, like an old friend.

She went inside. The door made a creaking sound. The air smelled like old wood. Dust floated in the sunlight. The house was empty. No chairs. No beds. But Linda did not come for the furniture. She came for the memories.

She walked through the hallway. Her hand moved along the wall. This was where her father used to hang his coat. Her mother stood here every morning with a cup of tea. Linda saw everything in her mind like a movie.

She went up the stairs slowly. Her knees hurt, but her heart felt full. At the end of the hallway was her old room. The door was still closed. She opened it and stepped inside.

There it was—the yellow wall.

She stood still. Her eyes filled with tears. That yellow wall had not changed much. It was a little pale now, but it still held the color of her childhood. She had chosen that color herself when she was ten. “Sunshine,” she had told her mother. And it really felt like sunshine back then.

She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. The room was quiet. But her mind was loud with memories.

It was summer. She was sixteen. Her window was open. Birds were singing. She was writing in her diary. Then she heard a whistle from the gate. She looked outside. It was James Miller.

He stood there, smiling.

James was her neighbor. Tall, kind, and soft-spoken. He helped her with school work. He brought her storybooks. When her dog ran away, James found it. They were best friends. And maybe… something more.

They talked for hours near the tree. They shared dreams. He wanted to become a pilot. She wanted to become a writer. They believed they could do anything.

One day, he gave her a small white flower. “Keep this,” he said. “For the day we leave this town together.”

But life changed too fast.

Her father got a new job in another city. They had to leave in one week. Linda cried. She told James everything. He was quiet. Then he said, “I will write to you. Every week. I promise.”

But no letter came.

Linda moved to Chicago. Then college. Then marriage. Life moved on. She never saw James again. She thought maybe he had forgotten. Maybe it was just a sweet childhood memory. But deep inside, she never forgot him.

Now, after so many years, she sat in her old room. The same yellow wall behind her. Her eyes were wet.

She walked to the small wooden cupboard in the corner. It was broken, but still standing. She opened the last drawer. It was empty—except for one paper.

She picked it up. Her heart beat faster.

It was a note.

It said, “To Linda.”

She opened it with shaking hands.

> “I came to say goodbye, but you had already left.
I will wait for you near the old bridge, every Friday at 5 PM.
If you ever come back, I’ll be there. – James”

Her hands trembled. Her eyes could not believe it.
He had come.
He had waited.
But did he still wait?
Was James Miller still somewhere in this town?
Linda looked at the yellow wall one more time. Her heart was full of questions. Her journey was not over.
It had just begun.