Eliza hummed a little tune as she watered her roses, the earthy scent of the soil filling her lungs. The morning dew clung to the petals, refracting the sunlight. She felt a peaceful quiet settle over her as she worked, a gentle joy bubbling up from within. That evening, at a small get together, her friend, Sarah, brought up a shared experience.
"Remember that camping trip last year?" Sarah asked, her voice laced with mirth. "How we almost got eaten by that raccoon, and then we ran into that charming guy with the guitar?"
Eliza blinked, bewildered. She had a perfectly good recollection of the camping trip. She remembered the gentle breeze, the campfire, and the quiet camaraderie.
"Sarah," she said carefully. "We didn't see anyone with a guitar. We spent the night huddled in the tent, because the weather changed."
Sarah's laughter faded. "No way! We were by the lake. It was magical, right by that waterfall, and he played us songs. You even danced."
Eliza shook her head slowly. She remembered the cold rain and the constant worry about the tent leaking. The waterfall was lovely, yes, but not in the way Sarah described it.
"We were scared," Eliza replied, her throat tightening. "We were freezing."