Nestled between green hills and a slow, winding river lay the peaceful village of San Marillo  a place where time seemed to walk gently, where laughter echoed in courtyards, and the scent of bread drifted through open windows. In this quiet haven lived an old man named Mateo, known by everyone as “Grandfather Mateo.”

His hands were weathered from decades of work, his eyes lined with stories. Yet, whenever he smiled, the whole village swore the sun shone a little brighter.

The Song of Their Hearts

Every evening, as the orange glow of sunset touched the hills, Mateo would take out his charango  a small Andean guitar carved from wood and worn smooth by years of playing. Elena would sit beside him, her small hands clutching the hem of his poncho, her face glowing in the firelight.

“Abuelo,” she would whisper, “sing me the old song again.”

He would chuckle softly, tune the strings, and begin to play the melody that had lived in his heart since his youth  a folk song called “Luna Sobre el Río” (“Moon Over the River”).

A Promise Beneath the Stars

One evening, after they finished singing, Elena looked up at her grandfather and asked,

“Abuelo, when I grow up, will I still remember our song?”

Mateo smiled and touched her cheek gently.

“Of course, mi pequeña estrella. The song will live in you. When you sing it, I will always be near  even when I am far away.”

She nodded solemnly, not fully understanding. To her, he was eternal like the river, like the hills. She couldn’t imagine a world without his laughter or his music.

But time, as always, moves like a quiet wind through the trees, changing everything it touches.

Years of Silence

As Elena grew older, the world around her began to change. The radio replaced the songs of the old days; bright city lights replaced the stars. Her parents moved to the city for work, and one day she had to say goodbye to the only home she had ever known.

She hugged Mateo tightly before leaving.

“I’ll come back soon, Abuelo,” she promised.

He smiled, though his eyes glistened with tears.

Years Later

Elena stayed in San Marillo. She reopened her grandfather’s old workshop and began teaching music to children in the village. Every afternoon, they would gather beneath the same old tree where she and Mateo had once sung, and she would tell them stories of her abuelo  the man who taught her that songs are not just sounds, but souls that never die.

The Eternal Song

People say that even now, if you visit San Marillo on a calm summer night, you can still hear the melody drifting across the water  a grandfather and his granddaughter singing together, their voices forever woven into the fabric of the land.

Their song became a legend, a symbol of the bond between generations, of love that defies time and distance.

Because folk songs  like love  never truly end.
They only wait for someone to sing them again.