Nina sat at the edge of the park, her notebook open but empty. The fountain before her splashed lazily, the early morning mist curling around the stone like a whisper. The world was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city stirring awake, but her mind was as loud as ever. She could hear the weight of every word she hadn’t written, the echoes of frustration curling into a knot in her chest.

For months now, the words had eluded her, slipping through her fingers like sand, leaving her empty. She had once been certain that poetry was her calling, that the lines would come as naturally as breathing. But now, the page was just a mirror of her struggle, a reflection of all she couldn’t express.

It was the same every morning—sitting in the park, staring at the same view, hoping for some divine spark. But nothing.

She closed her notebook and stood up, ready to leave. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe some other day, she thought. She hadn’t even realized that someone had entered the park until she saw him.

A man dressed in flowing robes, his face framed by a thick beard, walked toward her with the kind of calm that only comes from living far outside the noise of the world. He didn’t speak as he passed, but his eyes met hers—deep, knowing eyes that seemed to recognize the ache inside her.

Curious, she watched him sit by the fountain, his legs crossed, his hands resting on his knees in a meditative pose. She’d seen him here before, but never this close. A dervish, she realized—one of those mystics who wandered the world seeking truth in stillness. She had always thought they were just part of the park’s landscape, figures of spiritual reverence, but today something felt different.

Without thinking, she found herself sitting back down, her notebook in her lap. Her fingers hovered over the blank page, still refusing to write. The man’s presence was strange, yet comforting, and as she sat there in the quiet, she found her thoughts slowing, settling.

Minutes passed, or was it hours? The sun’s rays were creeping higher in the sky, painting the park with golden light. And then, the dervish spoke, his voice soft but steady.

“You carry a weight,” he said. “But you cannot write if you are heavy.”

Nina’s heart skipped a beat. How had he known? She hadn’t spoken a word to him. He didn’t look at her directly, but his words were an invitation, a recognition of the quiet battle she fought with herself.

She opened her notebook again, a bit hesitantly. “I don’t know how to write anymore,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “The words are gone.”

The dervish’s eyes met hers now, and his smile was a slow, knowing thing. “Do not seek the words,” he said gently. “Seek the silence between them.”

Nina didn’t understand. She stared at him, her brow furrowing. “What does that mean?”

He chuckled, the sound like wind rustling through leaves. “You seek to fill the empty spaces. But the empty spaces are where the words are born.”

She looked down at her notebook, feeling the weight of his words pressing gently against her. For a moment, there was only the quiet—the soft gurgling of the fountain, the whisper of the wind in the trees, and the stillness of the man sitting across from her.

Then, as if the dervish had unlocked something inside her, Nina’s pen moved. Hesitant at first, but then more steadily, more confidently, the words began to spill.

She didn’t know what she was writing. It didn’t matter. The words were flowing like a stream, unbidden and free, from some place deeper than her mind. It felt effortless, like the poem had always been there, waiting for her to uncover it.

When she finally stopped, the page was filled with lines of verse, beautiful in their simplicity, each word perfect in its place. She looked at her notebook, astonished. She hadn’t written like this in months.

The dervish had not moved, his presence like an anchor to the moment.

“You see?” he said. “When you let go of the struggle, the words will find you.”

Nina nodded, a slow, quiet smile curving her lips. She looked at the man, but he was already getting up to leave, his robes swirling gently around him as he walked away, disappearing into the rising light of the morning.

She watched him go, but this time, she wasn’t empty. She wasn’t chasing after words. She had found them.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Nina felt light—free from the weight of her own expectations. She closed the notebook, her heart full of gratitude, knowing she would be back tomorrow. The words, she realized, were always waiting. All she had to do was listen.