Bhí dabhach mór ceo agus smúit ar chónaí isteach sna Sléibhte Chill Mhantáin.

A thick blanket of fog and smoke had settled over the Sléibhte Chill Mhantáin.

Bhí an samhradh imithe ar ais isteach i gcuimhne na gaoithe, agus bhí an titim imithe go healaíonta i ndathanna craobhacha oráiste agus buí.

The summer had retreated into the memory of the wind, and autumn had artistically vanished into crimson and golden hues.

I lar an tulra draíochta seo, ina suí ann, bhí teachín beag aoibhinn. Bhí boladh tine mhóna ag éirí suas ón simléar.

Amidst this magical foreground stood a delightful little cottage, with the scent of peat fire rising from the chimney.

Tháinig triúr cara le chéile sa teachín sin—Cillian, Saoirse, agus Padraig.

Three friends gathered in that cottage—Cillian, Saoirse, and Padraig.

Is taobh amuigh den tús i ngrá le Cillian bhí, ach bhí rud éigin gan choinne ann.

It was just outside the realm of a beginning romance with Cillian, but there was something unexpected.

Ar thuras fánaíochta le déanaí, bhuail fiarem an chloig ar a cheann, rud a thug concuise dó.

On a recent hiking trip, he had been struck on the head by a clock face, which caused him a concussion.

Ní raibh Cillian ceapach síos anseo, ag brath ar chairde. Ba phearsa neamhspléach é, nó sin mar a cheap sé.

Cillian was not accustomed to being here, relying on friends. He was an independent person, or so he thought.

Ach anois, bhí sé in éadóchas beag. Bhí cabhair uait.

But now, he was in a bit of a crisis. He needed help.

Bhí Saoirse ann, le croí mór agus grámhar. Bhí sí i gcónaí ag faire amach dó.

Saoirse was there, with a big and loving heart, always looking out for him.

Agus Padraig? Ba chara é, le greann agus géarchúis ag sreabhadh leis, in ann staidachtaí a ísliú i gcónaí.

And Padraig? He was a friend with humor and sharp wit, always able to diffuse tense situations.

Ní raibh Cillian ag iarraidh a bheith mar achmainnéid. Boinnigh sé rudaí faoi cheilt.

Cillian did not want to be seen as a burden. He kept things hidden.

Ach lá amháin, ag iarraidh cupán tae a dhéanamh, thit caife te ar a lámha.

But one day, while trying to make a cup of tea, he spilled hot coffee on his hands.

Cnag buille eile. An oíche sin, is iomaí smaoineamh a bhí ag streachailt ina cheann.

Another knock, another blow. That night, many thoughts were wrestling in his head.

Bhí sé in am fírinne a insint.

It was time to tell the truth.

"Saoirse, Padraig," a dúirt sé go críonach, "tá a fhios agam nach dteastaíonn uaim cabhair a iarraidh. Ach tá eagla orm go gcailleadh mé mo neamhspleáchas. Ní féidir liom gach rud a dhéanamh liom féin."

"Saoirse, Padraig," he said seriously, "I know I don't want to ask for help. But I'm afraid of losing my independence. I can't do everything by myself."

Bhí Saoirse sáinnithe leis. Bhí aghaidh bog aici, lán de thuiscint.

Saoirse was sympathetic. Her face was gentle, full of understanding.

"Níl ann rud éagtha cabhair a fháil. Tá grá againn duit, Cillian," arsa sí.

"There's nothing wrong with asking for help. We love you, Cillian," she said.

Padraig ag gáire beag, "Féach, caithfimid tú a bheith ag rith timpeall ar ísliú cuirtíní fós."

Padraig chuckled softly, "Look, we'll still have you running around like a busy bee."

Bhraith Cillian mothú éadrom agus scaoil.

Cillian felt a bit lighter and relieved.

Ar an deireadh seachtaine sin, fréasúlaigh sé rud éigin nua. Bhí teachín an áit ab fhearr le bheith.

That weekend, he realized something new. The cottage was the best place to be.

Ní raibh sa chabhróireacht ó chairde ach cuid den scéal níos leithne fós.

The assistance from friends was just part of a broader story.

Tosaíodh a mheas an chompord a bhaineann le grúpa cairde sa teachín céanna i rith na titim.

He began to appreciate the comfort of having a group of friends together in the cottage during the autumn.

D'fhoghlaim sé freisin gur cuid de bheith neamhspleách ná fios conas cabhair a fháil.

He also learned that being independent includes knowing how to ask for help.

B'fhéidir, mar a d'fhéach na duilleoga titim síos le gaileanna an fhómhair, go bhféadfadh Cillian ligean dá lán iomprú go maith leis an dá lucht thacaíochta.

Perhaps, as the leaves fell with the fall winds, Cillian could let himself be well-supported by his two friends.

Bhí a fhios aige anois nach raibh sé in easnamh rud ar bith, ach le do thoil a fháil.

He knew now he wasn't lacking anything, but rather, he was thankful to receive support.

Agus sin mar a bhog ceol clasaiceach, laistigh den teachín, amid na crainteanna ag doras na sléibhe.

And so, classical music played within the cottage, amidst the whispers of the woods at the mountains' edge.

Bhí sé oíche te, lán de shíocháin agus cairdeas.

It was a warm night, full of peace and friendship.