Bhí séasúr na fómhar i gcroí na Sléibhte Chill Mhantáin.

It was the autumn season in the heart of the Wicklow Mountains.

Bhí gaoth fuar ag séideadh, agus bhí na scamaill ag gol ar fud na spéire.

A cold wind was blowing, and the clouds were weeping across the sky.

Bhí an bháisteach ag bualadh ar dhíon miotail an mhotharlann rúnda.

Rain was beating down on the metal roof of the secret laboratory.

Bhí an áit dorcha agus fuar, agus bhí tost osréalach ar fud na háite.

The place was dark and cold, with an otherworldly silence all around.

Rinne Siobhán iarracht í féin a choinneáil áthas.

Siobhán tried to keep herself cheerful.

Ba í an áit seo a tearmann.

This place was her sanctuary.

Bhí siúl aici a bheith ina haonar ar feadh an lae, machnamh a dhéanamh, agus a smaointe a chur in eagar.

She hoped to be alone for the day, to reflect, and put her thoughts in order.

Chuir sí poll in úll i lár an bhoird agus chrom sí ar scríobh in a dialann.

She poked a hole in an apple in the middle of the table and bent over to write in her diary.

Bhí an saol casta, agus bhí uirthi sloinn a fháil ar an am atá caite.

Life was complicated, and she needed to make sense of the past.

Ach ansin, clois sí torann sa doras.

But then, she heard a noise at the door.

Sheas Siobhán suas go mear.

Siobhán stood up quickly.

Bhí sí ag breathnú go géar ar an doras, agus ansin, d’oscail sé.

She looked intently at the door, and then it opened.

Bhí sé Connor, a cara óige nach raibh sí ag súil le feiceáil.

It was Connor, her childhood friend whom she didn't expect to see.

Bhí sé fliuch go craiceann ón stoirm.

He was soaked to the skin from the storm.

Bhí cuma chroíbhriste air, ach d’fhan sé socair.

He looked heartbroken but remained calm.

“Dia duit, Siobhán,” a dúirt sé go mall agus bhí súile dóchasacha ann.

"Hello, Siobhán," he said slowly, with hopeful eyes.

“Ní raibh sé i gceist agam cur isteach ort.”

"I didn't mean to intrude on you."

Bhí mearbhall ar Siobhán.

Siobhán was puzzled.

“Cén fáth go bhfuil tú anseo, Connor?” D’fhiafraigh sí go cúramach.

"Why are you here, Connor?" she asked cautiously.

Bhí a ciúnas agus a peace scriosta anois.

Her silence and peace were now disrupted.

“Caithfidh mé labhairt leat," a dúirt sé.

"I need to talk to you," he said.

"Caithfidh muid an t-am atá caite a phlé.”

"We need to discuss the past."

Bhí comortas ina croí.

There was a conflict in her heart.

Bhí sí ag iarraidh síocháin a fháil anseo.

She was seeking peace here.

Ach, bhí Connor ceart.

But Connor was right.

B'fhearr í an méid bhí fágtha gan a phlé.

It was better to address what had been left unspoken.

Bhí an aimsir ag dul in olcas agus ba léir nárbh áit é Connor a dhíbirt.

The weather was getting worse, and it was clear this wasn’t a place to send Connor away.

“Tá an stoirm ag dul i méid,” dúirt Connor, ag féachaint amach tríd an bhfuinneog bearrtha beag.

"The storm is getting worse," Connor said, looking out the small, frost-edged window.

Shuigh sé síos ar an stól os comhair Siobhán.

He sat down on the stool across from Siobhán.

D'fhéach sé ina súile go croíúil.

He looked into her eyes sincerely.

Chuir sí a lámh ar a cuid leabhair ullmhaíochta.

She placed her hand on her preparation books.

“Ba mhaith liom éisteacht leat cóir,” dúirt Siobhán go géar.

"I’d like to listen to you properly," Siobhán said intently.

“Ach bí lánsoiléir, tá neart le rá agam freisin.”

"But be clear, I have a lot to say too."

D'éist siad le gaoith na stoirme ag bagairt an búncair beag.

They listened to the storm winds threatening the small bunker.

Labhair Connor faoin gcaoi ar tharla an míthuiscint fhadó a chuir an bheirt acu as a chéile.

Connor talked about how a misunderstanding long ago had driven them apart.

Labhair sé as a chroí, agus leis sin, bhí an torann lasmuigh mar a bhí sé ag fuar siar.

He spoke from his heart, and with that, the noise outside seemed to calm.

Fhad is a bhí an plé ag dul ar aghaidh, chonaic Siobhán an cosán i dtreo na tuisceana.

As the conversation continued, Siobhán saw the path toward understanding.

D’iompaigh a intinn.

Her mind changed.

Bhí séasúr nua á fháil aici, in áiteanna nach raibh sí ag súil leis.

She was discovering a new season in places she didn’t expect.

Dhá uair an chloig ina dhiaidh sin, bhí an stoirm imithe.

Two hours later, the storm had passed.

D’eirigh éadrom sa seomra beag, agus bhí sé soiléir.

The small room brightened, and it was clear.

Bhí siad tar éis lorg slánú tríd an plé dílis.

They had sought healing through their earnest conversation.

“Beidh muid ceart go leor anois, nach beag sin?” a dúirt Siobhán go ciúin.

"We’ll be okay now, isn’t that right?" Siobhán said quietly.

“Sea,” arsa Connor.

“Yes,” Connor replied.

“Go n-éirí linn.”

“May we succeed.”

Chuimil siad a ngodoirí i gcoinne a chéile.

They rubbed their elbows against each other.

Anois, bhí siad ar chaoi sháriúil chun an cosán ar aghaidh le chéile a thógáil.

Now, they were in a great position to move forward together.

Ar stáitse an fhómhar, in ann a bhfuil de bháisteach ag plé, dáréir na aimsire, bhí an misean cumhachtach i gcomhair cuid den am a bhíodh caillte.

On the stage of autumn, amid the rain that was subsiding according to the weather, they embarked on a powerful mission to reclaim some of what was lost.

Ba iontach an lá a bhí ann, go deimhin, a thosaigh le stoirm agus a chríochnaigh le comhthuiscint úr.

It was indeed a remarkable day, one that started with a storm and ended with newfound understanding.