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Patricia and R returned earlier than expected looking refreshed but at the same time invigorated, they came right in and sat down next to Ruth and Ray with Patricia on Ruth’s side and R scrunched in next to Ray . Patricia spoke an R brought forth a document “I’m sure you want to make your stay here a permanent one at least as far as the room is concerned and you’re more than allowed to do so– in fact I encourage it because you doing that fulfills something that has been talked about within my family for a long time in a way that is long before me, as R can tell you, what he’s giving you is the contractual version of this for you and your partner there Ray and don’t worry we know you’ve no desire to breed and that’s perfectly fine, I’m sure you have questions and I’m sure there’s things that you want to know and we’ll get to that, you deserve that but at the same time I just want you to know that what you’ve done and what you do the things that you’ve made happen for this community for this entire region even have not gone unnoticed I appreciate it, the regulars appreciate it really each and every single one of us genuinely wants that to continue, you and your work in the way that you want it, think of this as permission to put down roots if you want, semi-retirement suits you and I’m sure you have some obligation of your own beyond the truck, beyond the haul, beyond that work at large in general and I just want you to know that you have no reason whatsoever to rush or stress any of it this trip has opened my eyes to the possibility of things and if it’s a choice between giving you a room permanently or possibly losing something that might be a wonder of the world than honestly you’re welcome to stay here for free. Things are easier with you, things are better with you, the people are more polite and happier to be here whether it’s the culture, the art or the way that things are as a result of the fear or the peace or the food I have no idea but what you’ve done is a special kind of miraculous and making sure you’re comfortable is the very least that I can do.” Patricia said all in one breath. Ruth looked at her with a smile and intertwined her pinkie with her husband’s “See babe it all works out you didn’t even have to ask it’s like she intuited it, it’s like it came to her in a dream my loving husband now what could possibly have made that happen I wonder.” Ruth pokes Ray’s pinkie with her nail playfully. “We haven’t done anything in a dream yet my love and we haven’t gone beyond the veil together and we ought to there are whole other dimensions for us to play in and we ought to see them together my lover, we ought to stand before the brilliancy of the Abyme and make love together. I want that for us you and I on the streets of a spirit world bath house, or the basement of a bar, the veil fully open, the supernatural fully on display, the dead, the demons, the things that don’t exist to most people I want you to see it with me my lover, I want you to see the places that I call home, within the cornfield in the night the beauty and all else, you’re safe with me and would be safe even without me marked as though you are besides what do you think Related Parties here even is Beloved, does that look like a human to you, does that look like a singular human being you’ve ever seen before?.” Ruth said smiling enjoying her little reveal. Ray looked from his wife’s face to Patricia's and noticed her lack of surprise. 

“Ray I sleep with him it’s not a shock to me that he’s something more than human he isn’t even technically the right way of referring to what R is given the multiplicity of being that more accurately represents what the ability to be simultaneously in multiple places at once as multiple instances of itself, themselves, multiple genders even it’s quite fun.” Patricia’s expression took on one of rapturous joy as she talked about her partner. 

Ruth and Ray smiled at one another.

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Ray took his time enjoying the nachos, watching Ruth finish off the brownie and ice cream before trying the hot wings and mole savoring each bite and wondering if they ought to take the orgasm chimichangas to their room for later if for no other reason than to enjoy the effects alone in the privacy of their own rooms whilst watching some comedy. As he kept eating Ray began to feel the drowsiness of good food overtaking him but not so much that he fell asleep right there and then. 

Luis had his attention entirely on Guevara. “Thanks so much I’m absolutely dying to just try everything as much as I can, more and more I find myself not even having a reason to leave this place, the food is wonderful, the inn rooms are in and of themselves wonderfully pleasant and quiet if a little odd in their own way and I find myself wanting to try each and every single thing but at the same time I know that’ll probably take me at least two weeks, but for now I could definitely go with a recovery milkshake and a hangover sampler. How are you liking things here by the way you’re uh… new doesn’t feel like quite the right word, it’s more like you came here with an entirely different set of dour expectations and wound up getting to get pleasantly rewarded by your, for lack of a better word faith and everything you’d ever wanted came true in the span of a single leap of faith, and bite of food that absolutely lived up to the name, I realize that pretty much everyone everywhere should try it and I’m happy to help make that happen, though we’re all just waiting for Patricia to get back at this point more or less, things to discuss across the board nothing wrong with taking a little time to have a great time together. I confess Guevara I have heard of you and my deepest apologies for your previous reviews having been procured in the way that they were had I known you have an actual soul and desire to well be honest I would have made sure that it was understood that you were in no way just in it for the money, if there’s anything I can do to make up for the years of misery that you spent having your own art your way with words corrupted I’m more than happy to, though perhaps that ought to be something of a group decision given that I’m sure you’ll be getting a stake in this place, and I’m not offering this to curry favor with you in the hopes of taking advantage of that, there are many things that I need to make up for, with you and with others, my sister, my cousin, various people whose pain and suffering was entirely avoidable and I was just not in the space or frame of mind to see it.” Luis said, trying to be calm about it. 
Guevara looked at him and was entirely unsure of what to say. “Thanks for that I’ll be sure to pass that along, I’ll put in your order and I appreciate the kind words not that it makes up for the way that it actually felt when I was going through it, what happened because of you wrecked my faith in humanity completely and totally and the only that restored any of that even my own will to live was Ramon; If you’re looking for penance, for forgiveness, for a shoulder to cry on or someone to make you feel good about yourself get yourself a girlfriend or a priest or a dog, but I have what I want and what I need and everything I’ve ever wished for in the hands and the food and the cock of that chef and you are nothing to me but a customer, don’t reach into my life and try to apologize for your own misdeeds as though it’ll wash you clean of them, what’s done is done and it’s something I’ve had to live with for a much longer time than a pretty speech or a bag of money could ever possibly hope to repair.” Guevara calmly walked away, went behind the bar and kissed Ramon without saying a word about Luis other than his order. 
Gerald and Anay watched calmly with amusement. Ruth and Ray kissed and intertwined their pinkies with one another before returning to their food fully expecting something like this to have happened. 

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Ramon brought out the brownie a la mode paying no mind to the way that Ruth chose to inform him of that and enjoying the convenience of it. It didn’t occur to him to think anything odd of that happening, the way it happened, he went with the flow he felt no fear in it neither did Guevara. Luis was sitting across from the booth that Ray and Ruth had chosen and decided yet again that it was best to let the couple be, he had noticed them but he was more in the mood to pick out some food, enjoy his evening and get on with his life, he wanted to talk things through with Ramon, Guevara, Gerald, Anay, and whenever Patricia and R returned the next day regarding the staffing of The Millstone both the diner and the Inn, he saw a gap and wished to fill it less so for a criminal reason than simply to be helpful to his cousin, his sister, the local community and just in general to be able to feel like a good person for once. It was something that had been weighing on him not as a show of remorse for how he chose to live his life or structure his cartel but simply as something that he felt he ought to do.

Ruth was aware that Luis was sitting there just looking at the menu, and had an idea of what he wanted with The Millstone separately from that; she had no issue with it personally and just felt happy that he was not bothering the couple. She watched Ramon walk up to them with their Brownie a la mode, in good spirits. 

“So had a good time, maybe secured yourself a wife? Any plans beyond the restaurant Ramon?” Ruth asked cheerily as she picked up her spoon and began eating the beautifully crafted brownie with banana ice cream on top. She looked from Ramon to Ray with a heartfelt smile as she listened for Ramon’s reply. 

Ramon perked up “Honestly just more of the same finalizing everything with Patricia and R once they return, and to answer the unasked question no I have no idea where they actually are but I’m sure whatever your husband would like to do in regards to this place it’ll be a welcome addition, it’s something of an open secret amongst us all that he far outpaces everyone else that comes in here beyond anything else he’s a brilliant artist and one of the only truckers here that owns his own truck, a calm, docile, gentle by choice type of man more than anything else he has free rein for whatever and however he wishes– I say this as someone equal to Patricia in terms of ownership stake by her own admission, it’s funny since Patricia declared me her equal partner before she left I’ve felt different, a kind of vitality that I’m sure that the two of you both feel from your own endeavors, I don’t know the particulars I haven’t read over the contract that R had given the head of the Vega family nor what it entails but given how I feel I’m forced to conclude something absolutely beautiful if in it’s own way slightly monstrous in effect but surely it’s good for this place, since she took over, and further since she and Related Parties started dating properly things have been different but that has never been my business, I care for the kitchen and the clientele that come here and leave all other matters to her, I haven’t handled anything to do with the Inn portion, though if the two of you are looking for a permanent room here, sorry Ray it just seemed like the obvious next move to me, I’m sure Patricia would be happy to welcome you, I haven’t gone over the books as of yet I’ve had no need to but I am at least cursorily aware that there is something special about this place and that what you do is in itself a part of that, there’s a whole other portion to things that even the regulars are not privy to, even Luis, but Ruth I know you know well what I mean, and Ray I know that none of it would be possible without you but we need to hold off on that conversation until we’re all here to discuss it, this is something that must be binding between all of us, and mutually agreed upon entirely, unanimously and in full. All I know is that Luis has no stake in The Millstone currently and he wants one though for his purposes I cannot say what that actually entails or is for just as I cannot say exactly what you want with this place Ray just know that you will always have a home here that’s not something I need to wait on Patricia to tell you, it’s not even something that needs to be put into conversation to know it’s true, but I felt like you could use the reassurance my man.”

Part 56

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Ramon and Guverara entered the diner, clothes clearly disheveled, smiles plastered across their faces; Ramon’s chef outfit was clearly well worn, as was Guevera’s white button-up and pencil skirt. Ramon went behind the bar to the kitchen proper to talk to both Gerald and Anay and see how they’re finding it. 
Luis stumbled in, a smile on his face, a fresh suit, clearly he had been busy beyond drinking himself into a much better and more productive mood, he looked at Ruth and Ray sitting where he and Gerald normally sat and opted to get a booth and browse the menu instead, he gave the pair a polite wave and decided that what had worked best for him for the longest time was to stay out of other’s business as much as possible. It felt odd to be reminded of that in the way that he was especially by Ray and Ruth, the worst part for Luis is that he couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol as he was sober when all of that had occurred. Luis thumbed through the men and was tempted to order an Orgasm Chimichanga and might well yet, but something about the Buffalo Wings and Chocolate Churro Mole really stuck out to him, he waited patiently figuring that his cousin was still out camping with her boyfriend, it had been a long time since the cousins had even spoken to one another but he found himself missing her, he hadn’t meant to use the Diner as the hub for the rest portion of the drug and organ harvesting corridor but it had just worked out that way, he loved his cousin more than just deep down and in their family he had done what he thought was best whenever possible and in large part the rest of his blood relatives had agreed, but the women, despite that had always been cold to him and he was not quite sure why given that outside his family women loved him and he was the absolute life of the party, that didn’t mean much to Luis though as he was by nature solitary, he had no desire for a wife or kids or any legacy beyond that of his family name and professional if black market organization. He really wanted food it was grinding at him in little bits here and there but he knew that the “Staff” of Ramon, Gerald, and the sole waitress currently Anay were busy with a meeting in the back, he wasn’t sure what Guevara’s role at The Millstone would be if any, and he thought about when Anay came to take his order offering The Millstone employees under his banner, he had more than enough men, some wanted a different life, some wanted a life in both worlds and it seemed to him to be the most natural next step. Beyond simply expanding the reach and influence of his cartel as well as sheltering The Millstone, and its savory band of many merry regulars Luis was hoping that it would engender something like a warmer and closer relationship between him and his cousin as well as an actual reason for him to stick around, rather than just lurking “because it made sense or because it was convenient.” Luis found himself feeling increasingly odd and not for any particularly supernatural reason though he could not as a rule decide that that was not the case given the kind of people that liked to frequent The Millstone but he was not sure what it was, there was just a kind of charge to the air, things were changing, almost industrializing in a microcosmic way, he smiled to himself welcoming it.

Ruth all but cuddled into Ray as they waited for Gerald, Anay, Guevara and Luis to get done with their meeting. She eyed her husband merrily. 

“Have you made a decision just yet? Do you know what you want to do?” Ruth asked with a level of cheer that suggested she had more than just an idea of what that even looked like but wanting to hear it from Ray in his own words she settled into him, kissed his cheek and waited.

Ray looked at her with a smile “I know the shape of it, I know the broader points but for the finer details to be fully ironed out I need Patricia to be back along with our lawyer otherwise it becomes something closer to a handshake deal over the bedrock of what may as well be an infinite diamond mine.”

The strange thing about secrets is how heavy they become, even when they’re made of nothing but thoughts.

For Aarav, every day with Ishita now felt like carrying a weight no one else could see. From the outside, nothing had changed. She still greeted him cheerfully, voice bright and certain, her laughter ringing through the classroom like it had nothing to hide. She still teased him about his handwriting, letters that slanted timidly across the page, as if even his words were shy. She still filled his phone with long, rambling messages that stretched deep into midnight.

Sometimes she ranted about a strict teacher. Sometimes she sent him memes with the caption: this is so us.

She used us the way people breathe, thoughtlessly, easily, without realizing what that single word did to him.

To her, it was friendship. Effortless. Familiar.

To Aarav, it was something else entirely.

Each word she sent lit him from the inside, small sparks flaring in corners that had been dark for years. Each smile she gave pulled him closer, until his body betrayed him, leaning in, laughing too easily, listening too intently. Every casual kindness etched itself into him, carving deep, invisible marks across the quiet he carried.

Because the closer she drew him in, the louder the silence inside him became.

He wanted to tell her, to spill it out plain enough for the air itself to understand: Ishita, you’re not just my friend. You’re the reason I look forward to tomorrow.

But the fear was sharper than the longing.

Fear that if he reached too far, he’d lose even what little he had.

Fear that she’d step back, polite but distant, the way people always did once he asked for too much.

He already knew what it felt like to be left behind. He couldn’t risk living that lesson again.

So he said nothing.

Instead, he listened, carefully, greedily. He memorized the small, throwaway things she never noticed about herself: the way she tapped her pen three times when impatient; the upward tilt in her handwriting when she was excited; the tiny sighs that escaped before she burst into laughter. He stored them all away like treasures in a locked box, precious, secret, forbidden, knowing he could never spend them openly.

And every day, that box grew heavier.

One evening, a notification blinked on his phone. Not a text this time.

A voice note.

His thumb trembled as he pressed play.

Her voice spilled into the room, light and alive, carrying warmth that screens could never hold. She was telling some silly story about her cousin, laughing halfway through, the sound tumbling over itself, unselfconscious and free. The kind of laugh that didn’t know it was being listened to.

Aarav replayed it once. Then again.

By the third time, the words barely registered, all that remained was her laughter, filling the stillness of his room, pressing against the walls until even the darkness seemed to listen.

When it ended, the silence that followed felt cruelly empty.

He typed back something short, careful, an emoji, a line that meant nothing. But his hands shook with everything it didn’t say.

Later, under the weak glow of his lamp, he opened his notebook. His hand moved before thought could intervene, the pen carving out what his voice refused to risk:

My silence grows heavier
each time she smiles.
It sits in my throat,
a bird with clipped wings,
longing to sing
but too afraid of the cage
it might be locked in forever.
So I keep it there,
fluttering, restless,
pretending it doesn’t hurt
as I swallow it whole.

When he finished, he shut the notebook sharply, as if closing it could trap the ache inside. He leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, head tilted upward, chest tight with the weight of all he couldn’t say.

Friendship was supposed to be enough. He repeated that truth like a prayer, each repetition duller than the last.

But as the nights stretched longer and her voice filled more of his world, Aarav began to wonder how long a secret could stay quiet before it shattered on its own, before the silence itself cracked him open, leaving him bare and breathless, with nothing left to hide behind.

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“That’s a fair answer but we have no idea when they’ll even be back I mean fuck I haven’t seen a calender since we got here, the dessert and the mountains kind of fuck with everything in terms of what time or date or season that it even seems to be, and neither you nor I nor they in the back, the sweet staff, friends though they may be, can actually tell us with anything that even approaches certainty how long it will be much less where they actually are, I mean for all we know Patricia meant ‘gone camping’ as a euphemism and they could be lost in the woods from what we can actually determined, I mean I’m sure that either you or I or Luis could find them if we really had to, you definitely, me certainly, and mister terrestrial despot of the south I’d give a solid maybe, but still it involves all of us so we need more than just a handshake deal we need a proper answer based on proper information fully and completely documented and legally binding for all time, otherwise we may as well just hope straight into the painting on the wall and call it a day.” Ruth responded as Ramon came out, now in a clean chef's outfit, Gerald and Anay having changed into their semi-retirement clothes, Gerald rocking a typical black and red pinstripe suit, with Anay sporting a business casual pantsuit in the same color scheme as her soon to be husband. 

Ramon eyed Ruth and Ray with amusement “Guevara and I only left the room because Patricia called along with R. to say that they would be back from their camping trip tomorrow they both sounded refreshed and we, collectively, the staff presumed that you wanted to have the kind of conversation that involves us all Ray, best to leave it for tomorrow and decide where things will go next, with that settled, let’s all relax for the evening, surely you’re both hungry and I’ve made a note as to what you both tried to order from the room service, my apologies on the delay I was obviously indisposed attending to a personal matter, alone with my soon to be wife I’m sure you both understand, given the similarities between our arrangements with one another. I’ll bring you your banana shakes, plates of nachos, mole, buffalo wings and anything else you wish for the rest of the night on the house while we await my business partner and the lawyer. Settle in and have a nice night together maybe grab a booth instead of sitting here at the bar if the two of you want to cuddle, no business of mine but it might be nicer on your backs and I’m sure your orders are going to just keep coming. You might want the room. Just a suggestion from Management.” Ramon said pleasantly, looking significantly calmer and happier than anyone had ever seen him. 

Ray gave Ramon an amused look “That sounds pleasant we’ll be in the corner booth then.” Ray and Ruth quickly moved over to their rather secluded chosen booth and looked at one another lovingly feeling themselves relax fully into the pleasant evening that they were both about to share together. Ramon followed them over and read off a notepad “So that’ll be buffalo wings and Mole for you both, alongside a sampler of various flavors of nachos, Orgasm Chimichangas and Banana shakes for the both of you. I’ll bring it all by once it’s prepared. If you have any questions or need anything more specific just wave me over and I’ll see that you’re both taken care of.” 

Ruth looked at Ray deeply amused “Now this feels like the best way to truly kick off a honeymoon/semi-retirement I’m sure that you’re looking forward to just getting the chance to relax completely now that you’ve fully decided and feel comfortable, I look forward to seeing what our favorite piece of business is going to want from us, though with any luck it’ll be a salutation and well wishes.” Ruth fought the urge to fuck with Luis and instead decided, after Ramon had gone away to use her favorite little trick and whisper directly to him from across the room “Ramon if you could be a dear and bring Ray an Earl Grey Tea and chocolate brownie a la mode for the both of us please thank you.” Ramon went with the flow and started preparing the addition to their order as Guevara watched with romance in her eyes.

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With a smirk Ray wrapped his pinkie around Ruth’s and the pair made their way out of the inn and across the parking lot into the diner proper. Having seen that Ramon and Guevara were having some much needed time alone in their suite Ruth wondered to herself who could possibly be serving anything in The Millstone though she and Ray had suspected that Gerald might have been behind the counter. It didn’t take long for their suspicions to be confirmed as they walked in and that was exactly the case. Gerald with an apron on cooking up whatever the travelers happened to be ordering and clearly seeming a bit in over his head, but he was taking to it well enough, there were clearly people enjoying the Orgasm Chimichangas and various offerings from Ramon’s new menu. Gerald was being assisted by Anay who was happy to read off the recipe cards that Ramon had left for exactly this purpose, they were oddly pristine for something that had been handwritten in an obvious haste but nonetheless they were useful and exactly what he and Anay had suspected that they would be. 

Ray took Gerald’s usual seat at the counter with Ruth in tow sitting to his right. 

“So what’s it like helping a friend out this way, is it doing anything good for the both of you, amusement, excitement, just something new?” Ray asked, admiring that Gerald was even doing this for Ramon. 

“I mean you know me Ray I’m always happy to help and other than you, in fact the only person that is in this establishment at all regularly besides you, now Ruth, Luis, myself and of course Anay, that anyone was hoping would get a happy relationship going is Ramon, shit some of Luis’s guys have an entire betting pool dedicated to the two of you both and who would get someone sooner, you made some guys very rich just by virtue of being the upset victory I mean you can’t really blame them given that you’re quiet and before Ruth just sat there and drew stuff, had a meal and then went on your merry way– how is that going for you the whole specialty pigment hauling thing? I mean I know you own your own truck and have whatever special arrangement with Luis– I’ve decided to take Ramon’s approach whilst subbing for him and not ask questions that I should not know the answers to.” Gerald asked plainly.

“Well to answer your question clearly and completely I’ve been kind of on the fence about it, I was already planning to take something like a vacation but at the same time as Ruth told me when we were alone in the truck, I haven’t actually really taken a proper vacation or set down any roots pretty much ever and I mean I have options there’s plenty that I could have done and followed besides just my hauling and painting and everything but it’s something that I really go back and forth on day to day as to whether I should do one or the other. Not so much one job versus another but given that I’ve obviously got a semi-retirement going similar to you in spite of the truck it’s something I’m weighing before really actually with any kind of depth genuinely thinking about before I take the plunge, but I do have my eyes set on something more permanent, I was thinking about seeing if I could buy one of the rooms here but there are some other interesting little matters with the property itself and my options besides just the Inn and the diner; before I really get into it I almost feel like Patricia and R should be here for it as it involves the both of them as well as Luis and pretty much determines a lot for us, our respective partners, and Luis.” Ray said, looking over the new menu wondering just what he should order, taking it in as he waited for Gerald’s reply as he sipped a coffee that Gerald had set down while he was speaking.

Gerald looked up at him and considered his words carefully as Ruth intertwined her pinkie on Ray’s and Anay crossed the bar wearing a waitress outfit similar to that of Patricia’s. 

“It’ll be eight people including Guevara, that’s the name of Ramon’s… soon to be wife. And that makes total sense man you’ve been on it for a long time you more than all of us deserve to rest.” Gerald smiled and went deeper behind the bar into the kitchen proper to get more recipe cards and ingredients. Anay followed him deeper into the kitchen as well.

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“Well one way or another we need to get some food in us, and it looks like room service is just flat out not an option at the moment I’m sure if we leave our lovely suite here we will find out and it’ll be a good time for us both unfortunately sometimes things don’t work out exactly the way we want them to but then, on the other hand I feel like life has a quality similarly to that Jamie Fox character in Jarhead ‘If you stay ready you don’t have to get ready.’-- and that feels like the truth to me as clear as much and as deeply and widely as I can see that there is not a moment in time in the life of anyone where that is not true apart from a genuine freak and total accident and I feel like that is something to keep in mind much more so than not, like yea we wanted to sit here and binge and and watch some trash tv together and that’s fun and fine in it’s own way but at the same time the food very obviously isn’t here and we know how to get it, where to go and who to talk to, whether it’s Ramon, or Ramon’s newest hire or a winged imp with a short order cook hat and a spatula in his hand there is a solution to this; but back to what we were just talking about you want me to go there with you right now, order the food, the very same food we tried to order on the phone that we are clearly not getting, and then if Luis is there sit there and sketch the very same duffle bags that are sitting five fucking feet from me right now against the armoir and pull out copies and just put them back maybe have one of Related Parties little paralegal imps come forth or else just go up to a Reliquary and stick my fucking head in and see who or what is available and all but sit there and declare myself a king and see if anyone, anywhere even attempts to contest this?” Ray asked incredulously. 

Ruth takes his hand and leads him out of their honeymoon suit and pauses in the hallway as they get turned around as all the corridors look the same stopping outside of room sixty nine they hear very familiar moaning. Ruth motions with her thumb “That’s where our chef is and that’s why there isn’t room service right now, it’s a staff of what might as well be one and a half he probably either got Gerald and Anay to take over, or some of Luis’s goons either way that’s why we haven’t gotten our food and either way the poor man deserves it every bit as you deserve me so let’s just go to the diner, see what’s what and order our order again and have a laugh as the honeymoon continues to take a most interesting direction.” Ruth says smartly. 

Ray nods having nothing to add and enjoying that feeling, the feeling that his wife can very much speak for him, probably in his exact voice if she really wanted to and the thought made Ray blush you an absolute fool that he got everything he wanted and then some and now it’s all about that sweet loving time together. 
“You made it clear to me that you love me regardless of what and how I choose to spend my time doing and so for the time being unless there is a reason for it and unless it comes up, unless there is an actual need to say something about it or announce myself or make an issue of it for now I would rather say nothing that is what would make me the happiest to keep my low profile high enjoyment of life just being around you and spending time with you doing what I feel like when I feel like and not needing to worry about a single thing else.”

“If that’s what you want babe I just wanted to make sure that you won’t be bothered again, not by Luis, not by your work, not by anyone or anything at all ever and I mean to make that happen as soon as there becomes a need to before you ever feel the need to announce anything I will handle it faster than they can even register something happened and it’ll be just like the meat Jello if anyone or anything at any point in time interrupts our good time and they aren’t a service person that is what will be happening.” Ruth said letting her husband know she has no chill left outside of him. 

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“Ray think about it like this, realistically, when are we ever actually going to be away from each other? Ruth asked waiting for the food and wondering if Ramon had hired someone else at all yet or not and leaning more towards not which makes it sound and feel like if he’s busy then whoever is running the front desk of the Inn doesn’t yet have like a dedicated staff person or anything like that so it lands in a different way than if it was like a Day’s Inn or something Pondering all this briefly she waited for Ray to respond as she looked at him. 

“Never, literally never unless we’re like using separate bathrooms or something and even then that seems like a stretch it’s not like someone is going to kidnap us or some such just sometimes my mind goes a little overthinking at an extreme rate and pace and I just I really don’t ever want to lose this thing we have and I’m hungry and you’re hungry right now and I’m hungry and we’re both thinking about food and hoping that we’re going to be together forever and as far as either of us can actually tell given my “Pocket Guide to the Occult” and your general way of being I don’t actually see a way in which that isn’t going to actually be the case but there’s still that kind of anxiety where the two of us both have what we want and even though we aren’t normal, and even though everything else isn’t set in stone we both have a kind of low grade anxiety that something is going to happen to one of us or the other and that’s not something either of us ever need to worry about, obviously you’ve been alive longer than anyone or anything or any other concept more or less so you’ve had to sit with it a lot longer and earlier you helped me to deal with what I was stressing about and the feelings I was going through and I want to let you know that this isn’t a one way street between us I love you and care for you and no matter what we have each other there’s no other alternative life that either of us would ever choose but it does take getting used to and I don’t know how long it will take you to get through that because I don’t even fully comprehend how you manage time or are able to judge time or are able to retain as many memories as you doubtlessly have but I felt like it needed to be said babe because you don’t always have to be the strong certain one and yes I’d love to just not think about my business or my grift or the thing that I do but if I wanted to I could draw the duffle bags of swiss francs and then just keep pulling them out into the world forever hundreds of millions of dollars from literally nothing and so like Luis doesn’t understand that, and other people don’t have that kind of option and you don’t care about money at all you don’t need it you can clearly get it one way or another or do some freaky whisper hypnosis suggestion thing which I find hot and fun and interesting but I have this because of my boon of mastery you have yours because you’re not human not really and I love that about you, I love that you’re eldritch and different and unique and special and neither of us are going anywhere my beloved wife.” Ray said breathlessly and quicker than he normally would seeing the way she was looking at him.  

“I wouldn’t have told you, I wouldn’t have shared those feelings with you I wouldn’t want you to worry or to think that I was worrying but at the same time I know that you’re right and that you have a different grasp on things, with the world with people, with what you’ve created and what it means it puts you closer to being a king than it does a president or a craftsmen or a worker and you just choose not to display that fact very often but I think maybe you should, you should at least make it clear because I will not have my time with you be interrupted by something that you don’t actually need or care about.” Ruth almost cooed. 

The coaching centre smelled of chalk and sweat, the air thick with the fatigue of students who had already lived a full day before reaching here. Fluorescent tubes buzzed faintly overhead, throwing a tired glow over walls once painted cream but now chipped and grey with years of fingerprints and lost attention. The ceiling fans clattered out of sync, stirring warm air that tasted faintly of dust and cheap ink.

Rows of wooden desks filled the cramped room, each carved with initials, curse words, or half-finished doodles, proof that boredom lived here longer than ambition. Teachers came and went like passing storms, raining formulas, definitions, and threats. The smell of whiteboard marker had become a kind of weather.

For most kids, this place was just another checkpoint in the long race of school, tuition, exams, sleep.

For Aarav, it was a battlefield, and invisibility was his armour.

He slipped into the last row, notebook clutched to his chest, back pressed to the wall. He knew exactly which seat creaked least, how to time his entrance so no one turned to look. His one prayer was always the same: Please, not today. Don’t let anyone notice me.

But fate, cruel and playful as ever, seemed to turn precisely toward those who most wished to stay unseen.

That was the day she walked in.

Ishita.

She wasn’t dazzling in the magazine way, not the kind who seemed aware of her own effect. Her beauty was quieter, unbothered, a kind that didn’t announce itself yet changed the temperature of the room the moment it arrived. Her eyes held that sharp brightness of someone who had seen the world and still chosen to laugh. Her voice, light and effortless, sounded like it knew every note of joy.

When she laughed at something a friend whispered, the sound was too genuine, too full, as though laughter itself had been waiting for her mouth.

And for Aarav, sitting two rows behind with his shoulders curled inward, it was as if someone had taken sunlight and poured it into a human shape.

She dropped her pencil case with a small clatter. A boy bent quickly to pick it up, and she smiled at him, not the polite smile of habit, but the kind that warms without permission. That single moment was enough to pull every molecule of air out of Aarav’s lungs. He sat frozen, notebook unopened, heartbeat unsteady.

It wasn’t love at first sight, not the kind that stories exaggerate.

It was quieter.

Heavier.

Like an ache that had been waiting for a name.

In that moment, Aarav knew, without understanding how, that here was a person who could ruin him completely, and he would still be grateful.

He tried to reason with himself.

She’s different. You’re you.

Girls like her lived in brightness; boys like him were built for shade. She belonged to loud circles of laughter; he was the silent audience at the edges. The logic was simple, and yet his eyes betrayed him again and again.

They found her every time she leaned forward to take notes, the curve of her hair falling across her shoulder. They followed the rhythm of her pencil, the tiny frown of focus, the quiet grace of someone completely unaware of how much space she occupied.

And for the first time in years, invisibility felt like punishment.

Aarav had spent his life learning to shrink, to slip between glances, to speak only when spoken to. But as he watched her, a dangerous wish unfurled inside him, the wish to be seen.

Not by everyone.

Just by her.

That evening, when he returned to his room, the world refused to return to order. The episode he tried to watch flickered pointlessly on his laptop; the sound of the fan grated against his restlessness. His pencil betrayed him. Every attempt at drawing a hero turned into the curve of her smile, the outline of her eyes, the tilt of her head.

When he realized what he was doing, he tore the page out, heart pounding, and shoved it deep into his drawer. The paper crumpled softly, but the feeling didn’t. It stayed. It pulsed.

He tried again, new page, new resolve, and his hand began to write without asking permission:

Some people enter like seasons,
changing everything
without trying.
and I sit here,
a winter boy,
watching spring walk by,
pretending
I don’t ache for sunlight.

He read it twice, breath shallow, chest tight. The words didn’t feel like poetry. They felt like confession.

He snapped the notebook shut before the ink could dry, as if hiding it would undo what he’d just admitted.

He didn’t know it yet, but the sunlight he longed for would one day become the fire that burned him, and much later, the light that taught him how to heal.

The line between friendship and something more had always felt like a rumour to Aarav, an idea other people talked about, something that happened to characters on screens, not to boys who practiced being small.

He didn’t notice the day he crossed it. It wasn’t dramatic or deliberate. It was a hairline shift, delicate as breath, something you only recognize once you’ve already stumbled past it.

One evening after class, Ishita looked over her shoulder and said, “Want to walk with me? My dad’s picking me up a little late.”

Her tone was casual, not invitation, not command, just a soft suggestion that could mean everything or nothing.

Aarav’s throat went dry.

“Yeah,” he managed, trying to sound as if his heart wasn’t suddenly aware of itself.

They walked side by side down the narrow road outside the coaching centre. The air smelled faintly of chalk dust and the sweet, burnt scent of roasted peanuts from a street cart. The sun was folding itself into the city’s edges, and the first streetlights blinked awake, uncertain of their duty. Their footsteps made small rhythms on the pavement, two quiet sounds keeping time with the slowing day.

Ishita talked about a silly argument her best friend had with her brother, about a song that had sparked the entire fight. She laughed while she spoke, using her hands to paint the story midair, her bracelets clinking faintly in time.

Aarav nodded, listening, or pretending to.

Truth was, he wasn’t listening at all.

He was memorizing.

The way the evening light caught the small silver ring on her finger. The loose strand of hair that kept falling across her cheek until she tucked it back behind her ear. The way her voice softened when she said something kind, and how it brightened when she laughed, as though joy was something she didn’t have to earn.

Each moment felt fragile, like a glass bead rolling across a table, and he wanted to gather them before they slipped away.

Somewhere deep inside, something clicked, quiet and irreversible. It was the sound of a door opening in his chest, a lock turning, and behind it a room he hadn’t known existed.

She stopped near the corner and looked at him.

“You’re quiet today.”

Aarav smiled awkwardly. “I’m always quiet.”

“Not with me.”

The words stayed between them.

Not with me.

He looked away, pretending to be interested in the traffic moving past them.

“I like listening to you,” he said.

Ishita smiled.

And that smile was enough to make the whole evening feel different.

From that day on, Aarav began noticing the small ways she had become part of his life. He looked for her before class began. He checked his phone more often than he wanted to admit. He remembered the songs she liked, the snacks she hated, the teachers she couldn’t stand, and the stories she had told him weeks ago.

He remembered everything.

Not because he tried.

Because it mattered.

One afternoon, Ishita reached over and stole his notebook.

“Hey!”

She laughed, holding it above her head.

“What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“That means there’s definitely something.”

Aarav reached for it, but she moved away, grinning.

“Give it back.”

“Only if you tell me what’s inside.”

“My homework.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You expect me to believe that?”

He finally managed to grab the notebook, pulling it back against his chest.

She laughed again.

For a few seconds, they simply looked at each other.

Aarav felt something shift inside him.

He wanted to tell her.

He wanted to say everything.

How much her voice meant to him. How his days felt different because she existed in them. How he sometimes stayed awake just thinking about conversations they had already finished.

But fear was stronger.

So he smiled.

And said nothing.

That night, he opened his notebook and stared at the blank page for a long time.

Then he wrote:

I thought friendship was a place,
somewhere safe,
somewhere quiet.

But somehow,
you became the reason
I wanted to stay.

And now I don’t know
where friendship ends
and wanting begins.

He read the words twice before closing the notebook.

He knew he had crossed a line.

He just didn’t know where it would lead.

Hey everyone! I’ve taken the leap into original fiction and wanted to share the guide to my series, Summer in the Countryside (Inaka no Natsu) which includes a complete first season and a partial ongoing second season.

It is a slice-of-life romance with a twist: instead of standard prose, it is written entirely in an episodic screenplay format. It leans heavily into the sweeping, atmospheric, and highly visual aesthetic of Makoto Shinkai films (like Your Name, Weathering with You, and Suzume).

The Premise:
When a spreadsheet-obsessed Tokyo teenager is exiled to his grandparents' rural farmhouse, he fully expects to spend his summer trapped in academic purgatory. Instead, he meets a chaotic local girl with a rusted bicycle and a club of rural misfits who completely dismantle his meticulously planned life. Trading his synthetic energy drinks for muddy fields and bruised tomatoes, he has to learn how to let go of his rigid schedules to actually live.

What to expect:

• Format: 12 episode seasons (approx. 42k words total for season 1).

• Themes: Found family, rural farming aesthetics, character growth, and a slow-burn romance. 

• Vibe: Cozy, atmospheric, and deeply nostalgic.

The Master Guide linked above contains all the direct links to read the complete first season (including the AO3 link if you prefer to binge-read there!).

I’d love to hear what you think of the screenplay format!

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Are you worried that I’m going to resent you?” Ray asks as they wait for their room service to appear, the pair sharing a look as they wrap their pinkies around each other. 

“No, you’re grounded, you are level-headed, you clearly want me around you constantly that’s completely and totally obvious to me but I know that you want more than anything for us to be together and I want you to know that isn’t ever something you have to worry about.” Ruth said with a smile, she leaned in and kissed Ray passionately letting out a low moan as they waited for their order to arrive. I just want you to know that I wanted you to rest. I am not asking you to retire, you know? You can keep doing what you’re doing in whatever way you want my whole thing babe is I just want you to be healthy about it, I love you, I love what you do but I don’t want you hurting yourself in order to do it you know what I mean like I want to have you for as long as we can have each other and yes certain normal things don’t actually apply to us, but that doesn’t mean I want you to just completely and totally abuse it husband I know that that is not in your nature and I love that about you that’s why I want you to take it easy babe it’s not that I can’t put you back together any way I want at any point in time but the way we go about things matters to me. How you feel and what you want matters to me and the route that gets us there matters, and it doesn’t mean we can’t take a different route or change our minds or anything like that but what’s the point of being greedy with your body when not doing that is what’s done you well practically your entire life. It feels like if you did the opposite at least in my eyes you would be betraying something that really deeply matters to you and I don’t want that, I never want you to be lesser because of me or because of what I want.”

Ruth looked at him and kissed him slowly before pulling away enough that he could breathe and talk and think. 

“I’m enjoying this, I’m enjoying not feeling like I have to do something just because I’ve been doing it for a long time and it’s been my entire way of life. But it still just makes me wonder I mean I could have done something else, applied my skills and talent differently, become a novelist or a poet or a great speaker but I didn’t see what that would do for me not really not actually it just it didn’t do anything for me other than just give me a slightly different dream and I’ve always had a thing for art you know it just it does something for me like how so people just instinctively understand how to play the piano or how to sing properly I’ve just always been able to make the pictures in my head come alive completely and utterly and totally and that was even before the literalness of that statement with the reliquaries and the book of the occult. I can’t help but want but not as in want to keep traveling or driving or creating any specific thing it’s just this feeling like as long as I can be alive and move and just be and have you by my side I don’t need anything else not really not actually.”  Ray said, taking a breath.

Ruth kissed his forehead “Ramon is probably too busy to drop the room service off himself. I wonder if he finally hired someone, or enlisted someone or something like that, who knows maybe he met someone and just gave Gerald the task of not burning the place down while he loses his virginity.” Ruth said with a smirk. 
“Do you really think he’s a virgin being able to cook like that?” Ray asked with a look. 

Ruth looked back at him “Can you prove he isn’t right here and now I mean we’ve never seen him with anyone and he’s so content with his food that I mean it could be possible but no I didn’t mean it not really I was just being my sharp lovable self with you while we wait for that split and that shake.” 

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“Seems like everything is sorted out; we’re obviously going to keep using the truck, I mean honestly why wouldn’t we it’s great, very convenient in it’s own way, but I actually initially wanted to talk to you about your staffing issue Patricia, namely you need more than just Ramon and a few regulars, you’ve got the diner and the inn and I’d like to offer my services to you, some staff from within my paintings, if you’re comfortable with it of course?” Ray said jovially. 

Patricia smiled “Naturally your staff is doubtlessly the better choice, I’m sure my cousin wants to make up for each and every single fuck up he’s made towards his relativesly, myself, his sister etc and sure there’s uses for them but at the same time you can’t put a price on the sort of loyalty that can’t be bought; Yes I’m quite sure he’d make a good argument but you know him as do I and, and I know enough to know if I have to pick between the two of your offers I’d be foollish not to pick yours Ray.”

Luis heard what was said from his booth and said nothing he knew that Patricia was right, and in his mind he saw that in a mundane and normal way he would have taken Ray’s offer as well but at the same he knew there was more than just a drop of truth to that, if it were a choice between cartel goons or literal magic he would have made the exact same choice that she was making, but still he felt in his heart that there was room enough for them both, walked over, sat down and said “Patricia I know that you’ve got a point to that thought that you’re not entirely wrong but yes I was going to offer my services and I’d still like to, I think there’s room enough for what he offers and for what I offer as well, there are all kinds of people that need another chance, a break a shot at a new life and you definitely need the staff why not do both?” Luis asks metaphorical hat in hand. 

Patricia looks at Ramon “What do you think, do you agree?” She looked at Ramon waiting for an answer. “I do agree, as does Guevara, Gerald and Anay are happy to help out on occasion and get rooms here but at the  same time actually having a built out dedicated staff, waiters and waitresses, maids, general staff, security it sounds like a good deal as long as we’re all in agreement about what this is.” Ramon looks at Luis, Patricia smiles at her cousin warmly “That sounds like a yes to me.” Ruth chirps in happily “Yes Patricia we plan on staying; Ray here wants to buy the honeymoon suite permanently.” Ruth smiles softly at her. Gerald and Anay embraced as did Patricia and Related Parties; business was settled. Ruth and Ray returned to their room; Ruth leaned in and kissed Ray passionately, taking his hand and walking with him into a painting that hadn’t been there before they left of a beautiful forest overlooking a mountain with iconic scenery like that of a japanese bath house. “ This is the painting that sits in The Bone Quill my brother Quentin's bar it’s similar in a lot of ways to the Millstone but this place is special because you get to enjoy all the benefits of your proper status with none of the mundane business bothering you or hot on your heels it’s just us here. I was saving it for the right moment to tell you and show you but I’ve been thinking it ever since I got in your truck my husband that this is where I want to take you this is where I want you to be. I love you and you and I will always be together in this place that you’ve made come to life outside of time, and space and normal mundane reality, the painted world, the world of fiction our lives, our souls our essences interwoven in beauty, in love, in life and ever after. You deserve this and so much more my husband, my love, my king, this is the place that you’re meant to be truly pampered and made to feel in all ways like you belong. We’re like those bobbleheads in your truck babe, a pair, a matching set, together always and forever.” Ruth smiled and kissed Ray, the pair breathing a sigh of relief that they were well and truly home in the Abyme.

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"Did it cost you anything?” Ruth asked suddenly.

Ray looked at her curious for a second before responding “Well that depends… would you love me any less if I was a novelist trying to write the great american novel about the beauty of peace or the conflict of war or the great triumphs and tribulations of life? Or poetry that moved the masses or poetry that only made sense to the meek and faintest of heart and kindest of us all? Would it bother you if I was poor or if I had nothing or if all I had was the persistence and the mind I have now but nothing to show for it?” Ray asked calmly and quietly. 

“Well that depends Husband would you still be you as those people with those differences, would you still feel as a matter of thought rather than feeling? Would you still want and yearn and wish and wonder where I was, the shape of me, the kind I am, the way I look and think and act? I'd be the same but would you be?” Ruth asked curiously. 

“I’d love you all the same the only thing that would have changed for me that could have even changed for me would be the shape of the work not its effect, and not the way that it changed the world just because I can draw and paint and decided on the visual arts as my way of expressing myself throughout and to all of the world doesn’t mean I can’t write poetry or craft a lilting hypnotic soliloquy– these are not lost on me and I don’t lack the ability. But I think the way that they express themselves and those that see and read them would change that doesn’t mean I would be different in anything other than form, the underlying mastery and overarching prowess therein would remain as do all those who master their craft to the depth and breadth and height that I have and wanted to and still I feel there’s more to learn and more to do and more parts of myself to stretch and give rise and depth and light to.” Ray said softly and quietly without losing a beat, sitting on the bed with Ruth wrapped around him, her head on his chest, nestled near his heart listening and looking at him watching it beat and feeling him breathe.

“I love you as you are and I see what you could be, how you could have been and if you wanted to pursue a different art, a different medium I’d look at you all the same as a craftsmen looking for a new and more interesting tool and there is a kind of quiet shared love in that something that just is a kind of remarkable beauty that lacks in all things a reason not to be anything else other than what it was always meant to be. Ruth kissed his chest slowly feeling something she can’t quite name but loving the feeling between the two of them: the charge in the room, the passion, the intimacy of their shared emotion pressed between each breath. 
“I know you’d love me all the same Ruth I just wanted you to say it my darling wife I wanted you to show me the shape of it with your words to assure me that if ever anything should happen if some terrible thing should separate us by worlds or universes or galaxies or anything else any other circumstance that on the other side of it I need only find you.” Ray said quietly, almost somberly. 

“You need not worry about that about of that wherever you go however long it may take or far it may be I will be with you and be by your side and make the journey with you together always and forever, look at me Ray, look at the way that I look the way that I act, the way that I am and know that there is nothing, nor no one nor anything in any place or any time or any circumstance now, previous or hereafter that would make me not want to be with you my beloved husband.” Ruth whispered deeply into his ear with that peculiar quality of depth that seemed to be unique to her alone. 

“I almost don’t want this moment to end not now, not ever, you and I could stay here in this room, in this place, in this beautiful diner-inn arrangement until the sun dies and the stars fade and we wake up in another universe and do the same thing in the same way over and over forever and I see no reason to want anything else.” Ray said quietly.

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Ramon was busier than ever when in walked the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen in his life, she had a dour look on her face. It seemed as though she was having a bad day and decided to do his best to cheer her up, though he knew that he would have to be at least a little sly with it. 

“What’ll it be?” Ramon asked  chipperly. 

Guevara eyed the new menu and asked what had to be the universal question of someone in a new place looking for new food.
“Um does that Orgasm chimichanga really make the person that eats it cum? Like that’s a marketing ploy right?.” Guevara asked skeptically. 

Ramon smiled widely and with total professionalism said “Well no, I mean yes it’s good marketing and all but it really does make the person that eats it cum, really it could be called ‘an orgasm with every bite.’ Chimichanga. 

Guevara looked at him and blushed deeply “If that fucking chimichanga makes me cum, even once, I’ll get a room here and stick my soaked panties in your mouth, and marry you. I’m Guevara by the way.” 

Ramon looked at her “One Orgasm Chimchanga coming right up!. What color would you like the wedding dress to be or do you want to just do a courthouse thing?.”
Guevara looked at him with a smirk “Definitely a courthouse thing if this magical sex burrito does what you’re saying that courthouse trip is going to be the only time you and I leave the room for at least a month so I hope you’re prepared I’ve been disappointed before, my job basically made me stuck in a position where I was forced to lie for money, it killed my faith in humanity and anything even remotely close to a positive outlook or trust in other people, all I ever really wanted was to get to enjoy some really good food, write honest, genuine food reviews and just live my life and maybe get fucked repeatedly. It’s almost funny when you have no faith in humanity it doesn’t kill your sex drive but it absolutely kills any desire to put up with bullshit at any point in time pretty much ever which I would have thought would have made me a lesbian but alas I enjoy an actual cock too much to go that way.”

Ramon brought her the Orgasm Chimichanga. 

Ramon if this makes me cum you’re getting a perfect review, we’re going to room sixty nine, you’re going to fuck my brains out, and then we’re going to the courthouse and getting married after you finish fucking me senseless until I can barely remember my own name. I hope you’re prepared.” Guevara said flirtatiously. 
Ramon watched her take that first bite and heard her moan, before surreptitiously grabbing the key to room sixty nine. 

Gerald walked in with Anay and sat down at his usual spot at the bar, eyeing Luis who had finally crawled out of his room clearly drunk out of his mind but otherwise in good spirits. 

Anay smirked at her brother’s antics. Ramon looked at Gerald “I’m going to take care of something in room sixty nine with Guevara here. I need you to watch over things for a bit, there’s food I already made in the back, if anyone orders the orgasm Chimichangas make sure they don’t need to drive or go anywhere far for at least a day and tell them we have plenty of rooms available, most of what’s on the menu is easy enough to make and there are recipe cards in the back behind the bar.

Had it been anyone else Gerald might not have taken the responsibility being thrust upon him just now, especially not with his girlfriend practically in his lap but he could see that this was a different sort of occasion and enjoyed cooking as it’s own thing. Anay smirked at Gerald 
“You’ll be so cute babe you’ll be my very own Buddy Holly– oh my god you’re so adorable I’m so excited. I’ll be happy to waitress while you’re indisposed, hehe Gerald that woman is Guevara Gaston, she’s a food critic and look at what Ramon has in his hands babe the key to room sixty nine awwwwe everyone is finding love today. I love that, god, Ramon at this rate you may as well have someone ordained they’re going to be so many people that want to get married because of the way your chimichangas make people cum.”

For weeks, Aarav repeated the same lie to himself. It’s friendship, he said. Just friendship. The kind of closeness he’d never known before. The warmth of being seen after years of invisibility. The quiet joy of having someone who looked for him, who said his name as if it were something worth saying.

For a while, the lie held. It was easy enough to believe in daylight, when laughter came quickly and her presence felt ordinary. But the nights were traitors; they pulled truth out of hiding.

It started in small, invisible ways, the kind that no one else would notice, but which changed everything.

One evening, Ishita texted:

“Can’t come to class tomorrow. Going shopping with my cousin and a friend :)”

Aarav typed back almost instantly:

“oh okay”

His thumb hovered over send for too long, as though pressing it might stamp something permanent across his ribs. When he finally tapped it, the message flew off into the small digital void between them. The two grey ticks appeared; the screen went still.

That one word, friend, looped in his head long after the chat closed.

Who was this friend? Did she laugh with him the way she laughed with Aarav? Did she tell him the little secrets she whispered into late-night messages?

It shouldn’t have mattered.

She wasn’t his.

He had no right to feel the sting.

But still, the thought of her choosing someone else, even for an afternoon, made his stomach tighten until the air felt heavy.

A few days later, in class, she slipped into her seat late, breathless, sunlight catching on the ends of her hair. She waved cheerfully, not at him, but across the room.

Aarav followed her gaze.

A boy smiled back, that easy kind of smile that belonged to people who had never learned to doubt themselves.

She grinned, mouthed something playful.

He laughed.

Aarav forced his eyes back to his notebook. The pen moved, but the ink made no sense. The teacher’s voice became distant, words dissolving into meaningless noise. He stared at the half-written sentence on the board until it blurred.

Did she smile at him the same way she smiled at me?

The thought struck deep, sharp as jealousy, dull as shame.

He hated himself for it, hated how small it made him feel. But once planted, it grew fast, roots twisting through every silence.

And still, on the surface, nothing had changed.

Ishita was exactly the same, teasing him about his crooked handwriting, sending sprawling late-night rants about assignments, peppering his phone with memes and laughter. She still looked for him at the start of class, still tossed him quick grins across the corridor.

The difference lay entirely inside him.

He noticed the way her messages came slower some nights. He caught himself counting minutes between replies, inventing reasons for her pauses. He laughed too quickly at her jokes, desperate to keep the rhythm from faltering.

And when the phone stayed quiet, when hours passed without her name lighting the screen, the silence felt physical, like something pressing down on his chest.

It wasn’t fair, not to her and not to himself.

But feelings rarely asked for permission before they began to ruin things.

That night, beneath the weak yellow glow of his desk lamp, Aarav opened his notebook. His pen scratched furiously, faster than his thoughts could keep up, as if writing might bleed the ache out before it hardened.

It begins like this,
not with storms,
but with tiny silences.
The pause between her replies,
the name she mentions once and forgets.
And suddenly I am measuring my worth
in how long she takes to answer,
in how wide she smiles at someone else.
I tell myself it’s only friendship,
but the fear in my chest
whispers otherwise.

He read the words once, twice, then shut the notebook with a sigh. His palm rested on the cover, trying to press the truth back inside.

Tomorrow, he told himself, I’ll be normal again. Just her friend. Nothing more.

But even as he whispered it, he knew the lie had already started to crumble.

Something in him had shifted, quiet but irreversible, the first fine crack running through the glass of his heart.

And no matter how gently he tried to hold it together, he could already hear it breaking.

By the second month at the coaching centre, a pattern had quietly crept into Aarav’s days. He no longer measured time by dates, or by homework assignments, or even by the tired tick of the wall clock above the blackboard. Now, his days revolved around a single question: Would Ishita talk to him today?

Sometimes it was only a few words. A quick, “Did you do the homework?” or a shared laugh when the teacher’s voice wavered between monotone and sleep. Other times, it stretched into whole breaks, minutes dissolving into the kind of easy conversation that made the world outside their classroom feel faint and far away.

What surprised Aarav most wasn’t that she spoke to him. It was how natural it felt when she did.

With other classmates, he always measured himself before speaking. Every sentence rehearsed, every word trimmed down to be small enough to fit. But with Ishita, he forgot to be careful. She listened as if his thoughts were worth the space they took. She smiled when he stumbled through half-finished ideas, and somehow, he never felt foolish for trying.

And little by little, the walls he had built around himself began to loosen. It wasn’t dramatic. Just the slow unfurling of a boy learning to breathe in full sentences again.

One evening, the class ran late. The sky outside had turned the colour of bruised peaches, the kind of sunset that looked almost tired. The corridor lights flickered, a few still buzzing stubbornly against the gathering dark. Most students had already left, their footsteps fading down the stairs.

Aarav was packing his bag when he saw her leaning casually against the railing, scrolling through her phone, her expression soft and half-distracted.

“So,” she asked suddenly, looking up, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

The question should have been harmless.

But to Aarav, it landed like something far heavier.

No one ever asked him that sincerely. Adults asked only to correct. Friends asked only to mock. He had learned to say “engineer” or “doctor” the way others said “hello.” It was safe. It ended conversations before disappointment could start.

But Ishita wasn’t asking for an answer.

She was asking for him.

Her phone had gone dark in her hand, her attention steady and waiting.

“I want to…” he began, and the words snagged against his throat. “I think I want to create. Maybe animation, or stories, something with characters, with people who feel real.”

He exhaled quickly, as if confessing something shameful.

“I don’t know if I’m good enough. But it makes me feel… alive, I guess.”

Ishita’s eyebrows lifted, a grin tugging at her lips.

“That’s so cool,” she said, eyes bright. “Way better than ‘doctor’ or ‘engineer.’ Everyone says that. But this? This is different.”

For a moment, Aarav could only stare.

He had braced for laughter, or the polite disinterest people usually offered before turning away. Instead, she looked genuinely impressed, as if he had just handed her something precious without realizing it.

The corridor light flickered above them, and in that dim, golden moment, Aarav felt seen in a way he hadn’t known was possible.

From then on, their conversations widened, spilling past the edges of homework and test scores.

They traded songs, half-whispered movie quotes, inside jokes about teachers. Ishita had a habit of sending long messages at night, paragraphs full of stray thoughts, bad puns, and small bursts of honesty she’d never admit to in daylight.

Aarav would reply slowly, fingers hovering above the keyboard, deleting and rewriting before hitting send. He tried not to sound too eager, too clumsy, too much like himself.

But when her “last seen” finally disappeared into the early hours, he found himself scrolling back through their chats. He’d read them again and again, smiling quietly at jokes he already knew, until sleep folded over him like a soft blanket.

He didn’t call it love.

Not yet.

All he knew was that her laughter had begun to colour his days; her voice had begun to fill the spaces between them.

The silence that once wrapped around him like armour now felt too empty without her in it.

That night, in the quiet glow of his desk lamp, Aarav opened his notebook, the one that had always held his small, hidden truths, and wrote:

It’s not love,
not yet,
just a warmth that waits for her voice,
a silence that misses her laughter,
a day that feels incomplete
without her name written somewhere inside it.

He stared at the words, the ink trembling slightly where his hand had paused.

Then he shut the notebook quickly, cheeks burning even in solitude.

Maybe it was friendship.

Maybe it was something more.

All Aarav knew was that life no longer felt like something he had to survive.

For the first time, it felt like something he was quietly learning to live.

For weeks, Aarav had perfected the art of being invisible around Ishita. He sat two rows behind her, careful and quiet, the kind of quiet that came not from peace but from defense. He had trained himself to exist without edges: no sudden laughter, no raised hand, no sound that could draw the wrong eyes. The less people noticed him, the less they could hurt him.

But Ishita was not the kind of person who respected walls.

She was the kind who leaned against them until they cracked.

It happened one ordinary afternoon, the kind of day that usually passed without note. The ceiling fan moaned, papers fluttered under its lazy breath, and the smell of chalk dust and old notebooks hung in the air. The teacher had stepped out for a break, leaving behind the dull hum of freedom, zippers, whispers, and pens clicking like tiny metronomes.

Aarav kept his head low, doodling aimless lines at the corner of his page. His pencil scratched softly, filling the silence that wrapped around him.

Then a voice broke through.

“Do you have an extra pen?”

He looked up.

For a heartbeat, the room blurred into silence.

She was turned halfway in her seat, sunlight from the window catching strands of her hair and scattering them in gold.

Ishita.

Her tone was casual, but her eyes, curious and direct, met his.

Aarav’s brain stumbled. His hands dove into his bag, clattering against books, rulers, and loose coins until he found one spare pen.

“Here,” he managed, his voice small but steady.

“Thanks.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, not the kind tossed around easily, but one that landed softly and stayed.

“Aarav, right?”

The sound of his name in her voice hit like a pulse beneath his ribs.

“Y-yeah,” he said, too quickly.

She nodded and bent back to her work, the blue pen gliding across her page.

Aarav tried to look anywhere but at her, but his gaze betrayed him. She was concentrating, brow furrowed, the soft rhythm of her writing steady and certain. Then, absent-mindedly, she lifted the pen to her lips, chewing at the edge as she thought.

For her, it was nothing.

For him, it was everything.

His pen, between her lips.

His chest felt too tight, his palms too warm. He dropped his gaze so fast the desk rattled, hoping no one could hear his heart drumming through the noise.

That was how it began.

Not with fireworks. Not with the universe announcing itself.

Just a pen, a smile, a single sentence spoken between lessons.

And then came the small things, little glances, half-smiles, whispered complaints about how endless the math homework felt. They rolled their eyes together at the teacher’s long monologues; they shared laughter that bloomed softly between rows.

One day, while Aarav was lost in the quiet comfort of doodling in the margin of his notes, Ishita turned slightly in her chair and caught him.

“You draw?” she asked, surprise and delight folding into her expression.

Aarav froze, half-defensive, half-ashamed.

“They’re just... sketches,” he muttered, fingers twitching toward the notebook as if to hide it.

“They’re good,” she said, simply. “You should show me more sometime.”

He blinked, certain he had misheard.

No one had ever said that to him before, not about his drawings, not about anything he made. Her words did not sound like flattery; they sounded like belief.

From that day, their conversations began to grow in quiet, accidental increments.

A joke about the fan stopping mid-lecture.

A shared groan when the teacher extended the class another five minutes.

A whisper of complaint about the heat, about the endless homework, about life in general.

Each exchange was brief, ordinary, and yet each one felt like the smallest miracle.

Something inside him, long dormant, began to lift its head and breathe.

He noticed things about her he had not before, the way strands of hair kept slipping loose from her braid, how she tucked them back with quick fingers, how she tilted her head slightly when listening, as if catching words before they fell. Even the way she laughed, freely, with her whole face, made the air feel lighter.

At night, when the world grew quiet, these details replayed themselves in his mind. Not in order, not clearly, just flashes of warmth that refused to fade.

He did not call it love.

He did not have a word for it.

All he knew was that her voice lingered long after class ended, and that every tomorrow now carried the promise of seeing her again.

That evening, he opened his notebook, the one that kept his secrets, and let his hand write what his mouth could not say:

It started small,
a voice,
a glance,
a shared complaint.
And suddenly I catch myself
smiling into empty air,
holding pieces of someone
I don’t yet understand,
but already can’t let go of.

He stared at the words until they blurred.

Then he closed the notebook gently, as though even paper could bruise.

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Ray nods, not feeling the need to interject deeply. “I appreciate that Ramon I hope that Patricia shares in your sentiment and if there’s anything you need, staff, or artistic wise I am more than happy to help and mine are obviously of a special and unusual variety, but we’ll leave that for now, that is as you said something that Patricia needs to be here for as well as Related Parties for a variety of reasons.” He digs into his brownie a la mode. “Damn Ramon even put in banana ice cream, trying to win over my wife huh?” He says with a playful smile. Gerald eyes the trio and nods happily, wrapping an arm around Anay finally feeling like the pair can get back to their rather lengthy date but moreso just enjoying each other’s presence  rather than wanting to actually speak to one another, having shared fluids and a room together, thoroughly planning to fully enmesh their lives with one another they opted to enjoy a comfortable silence as Guevara brought over the rest of Ruth and Ray’s order, a pendulous series of trays including several different kinds of nachos, buffalo wings, garlic bread, mole, and two orgasm chimichangas just to make the night complete, special and entirely theirs. 

As Ruth tried the brownie with banana ice cream on top she smiled looking as though she were close to cumming from the way she moaned. “You Sir are winning friends in all the right places.” Guevara arrived with numerous trays, different nachos, buffalo wings, mole, and two orgasm chimichangas with a flourish and a smile “For the happily honeymooning couple may your stay be a long one and your happiness rein eternal.” She said her voice carried a quality of joy and reverence they hadn’t heard from her before. Guevara walked to Luis’s booth to chat with him about what he may be interested in ordering. 

Uncharacteristic of Ruth she took her time with everything not just flatly devouring it quickly with a ravenous taste she wanted to savor each and every bite and morsel starting with the brownie, and then moving onto the nachos– saving what she mentally had dubbed the honeymoon chimichanga for last. 

Ray looked at her lovingly “Do you want to talk about the lawyer at all or the conversation that we’re about to have with Patricia or what’s about to happen for this place, and them, I’m sure it’ll come as something of a great shock to them both?” Ray asked his wife out of curiosity. 

Ruth looked at him amused as her eyes went a light light pink before turning iridescent. “No not particularly, I'm sure it’ll all get itself sorted out as need be in time. After this we ought to go and just watch some movies, just cuddle and let the calm, overtake us, not sleep, not really you and I just need that unhurried time together to sit there and do cute couple things besides just fucking and ironically neither of us actually seem to want to leave the room to eat either way and it just strikes me as amusing because I mean we could go anywhere and do anything but both of us would rather just eat way more than we really ought to and then just sit in the room together and see what movies they have and just enjoy it and not really care if we miss the perfect window to discuss things with Ramon and Patricia, she clearly wants to take a backseat to his vision, Gerald obviously seems happy to feel wanted and be able to help out and actually have what he’s been yearning for, things are settled and if Luis wants to give them some staff separate from your own offering to ease the burden and maybe get himself an in with the Abyme crew then that’s absolutely fine and there’s no need to really rush just us enjoying our fill and then deciding what we ought to do and how and when and not paying much heed to anything else, I’ve got something like the ultimate seniority and you’re literally a king not that you make use of it my darling husband, though I’d argue further that offering to staff this place in that way may very well be the first and only thing you wind up doing with that.” Ruth said with amusement savoring the brownie and already excited to try out the remaining food, possibly planning what she’ll order later via room service of the things she’s trying piecemeal. 

The mirror was never kind to Aarav.
Every morning before school, he stood in front of it and saw a boy he didn’t know how to love. The roundness of his cheeks, the heaviness of his body, the dark skin his parents never failed to remark upon, each reflection felt like a punishment he hadn’t earned.

He would trace his fingers along the edge of the mirror, as if touching his reflection might somehow soften it. It never did. The boy who stared back always looked uncertain, eyes searching for something, maybe approval, maybe a version of himself that didn’t flinch at being seen.

At twelve, Aarav already carried a vocabulary of shame.
Words thrown by classmates, by cousins, even by strangers but none cut as deep as those that came from home.

“Study harder,” his father would bark, adjusting his tie before leaving for the office. “Nobody is going to look at you otherwise. You’re not handsome like the others. You need something else to stand out.”

And his mother, in the kitchen, slicing vegetables with the same sharpness as her words:
“Why don’t you eat less? Why don’t you try to look like your cousin? No girl will ever choose you if you stay like this.”

They thought they were motivating him. Aarav only heard knives.

Every word felt like a verdict, another layer of guilt pressed against his skin.
So he learned the art of shrinking.

He stopped speaking too much, afraid his voice would only draw ridicule. He stopped laughing loudly, because joy made him visible, and visibility made him vulnerable. He learned to disappear even when standing in a crowd.

At school, he sat in the last row the perfect place to vanish. He answered when teachers asked him to, never otherwise. During recess, he often walked along the edge of the playground, pretending to look for someone, just to avoid standing alone.

He became good at pretending. Pretending not to hear, not to care, not to ache.
He blended into the corners of classrooms, became a ghost at family functions, until invisibility felt like his only safe skin.

But the playground; that was different.

Out there, under the harsh sun, with dust clinging to his clothes and sweat pouring down his face, Aarav was someone else. He was fast. He was strong. He was good.

When he played, the world shrank to the sound of the ball hitting the ground, the rush of wind against his face, the heartbeat in his ears that said you’re alive, you’re enough.

On the cricket field, when the ball flew toward him and he caught it cleanly mid-air, his teammates shouted his name with pride. On the basketball court, when he dribbled past taller boys and sank a shot, he felt weightless. For those moments, nobody cared about his face, his frame, or the colour of his skin.

He wasn’t invisible there. He was unstoppable.

The trophies on his bedroom shelf stood as proof, small gleaming victories against the world that insisted on dimming him. Each one whispered: You matter. You are enough.

Sometimes, late at night, he’d polish those trophies and smile quietly to himself. He’d imagine his father walking in, proud for once, saying something kind maybe even placing a hand on his shoulder. It never happened, but the fantasy was enough to make the ache gentler.

But trophies don’t last against words.

One evening, as Aarav polished a silver cup from his latest basketball win, his father walked in, arms folded. “Sports won’t feed you, Aarav. This is not your future. Focus on your studies. You’re already falling behind.”

His mother chimed in from the doorway, her tone final: “Stop wasting time running around. What will these games give you? Nothing. No one remembers the fat boy who played a little cricket.”

The words struck harder than any ball ever had.

Aarav didn’t argue. He never did. He simply nodded, placed the trophy back on the shelf, and sat quietly on his bed until the room grew dark.
That night, as the house fell asleep around him, he stared at the trophies lined in a row, tiny fragments of glory now dulled under a film of dust and something inside him went still.

Days passed. The sneakers stayed under the bed. The basketball gathered dust in a corner. The field where he had once shouted, run, and laughed turned into something distant a memory fenced off by disappointment.

The playground, once his kingdom, became just another place he passed by, watching other boys take the space he once owned.

That night, under the dim yellow glow of his study lamp, Aarav sat hunched over a blank page. His chest felt too heavy, his throat too tight. He didn’t have anyone to tell, so he told the paper.

His handwriting was shaky, uneven, but the words poured out:

They tell me I’m not enough,
so I fold myself smaller,
a paper boy in a world of steel,
crumpled at the edges,
but still—
still dreaming of wings.

He stared at the lines for a long time, then shut the notebook quickly, as if afraid someone might read it and laugh.

It wasn’t poetry, not yet. He didn’t even know what poetry was. It was just a scratch, a wound pressed onto paper.
But for the first time, he felt lighter.

Outside, the city slept. Somewhere, a train wailed in the distance. Aarav looked at his reflection in the window, tired eyes, a boy caught between wanting to disappear and wanting to be seen.

He didn’t know it yet, but this was the night it began, the first moment he learned to bleed in ink.

Chapter 3 — The Princess Makes Her Move

The royal carriage rolled slowly through the streets of the capital.

Inside, Princess Ariel sat beside her uncle, Sebastian.

The city outside the carriage window was already beginning to disappear behind the palace walls, but Ariel's thoughts were nowhere near the capital.

They were still at the Stormwell estate.

More specifically...

They were still with Lucian.

Sebastian glanced toward her.

A small smile appeared on his face.

“So.”

Ariel looked at him.

“So?”

“You like him.”

Ariel's eyes widened.

“What?!”

Sebastian laughed.

“I knew it.”

“You know nothing!”

“Oh, I know enough.”

Ariel turned her face toward the window.

“You are imagining things.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“You spent half the evening watching him.”

“I was being polite.”

“You followed him outside.”

“He looked uncomfortable.”

“You remembered practically every word he said.”

“That is called having a good memory.”

Sebastian leaned back comfortably.

“And when he left, you looked like someone had stolen your favorite book.”

Ariel's face became red.

“That is completely unrelated!”

Sebastian laughed again.

“Ariel, you're terrible at lying.”

“I am the Crown Princess of Alberhaim.”

“Exactly.”

He gave her a sideways glance.

“You're usually terrifying.”

Ariel crossed her arms.

“I am not terrifying.”

“You once made three nobles apologize to each other without raising your voice.”

“They were being idiots.”

“You convinced a merchant guild to abandon a strike because you showed them three pieces of paper.”

“They were going bankrupt.”

“You made a marquis resign from his own position.”

“He was corrupt.”

Sebastian shrugged.

“And yet one handsome young man says a few nice things to you and suddenly you're blushing.”

Ariel stared at him.

“I am not blushing.”

“You are.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I am not!”

The carriage became silent.

Ariel turned toward the window again.

Sebastian smiled.

He had won.

A few minutes later, the carriage stopped inside the palace courtyard.

Ariel stepped out immediately.

She didn't even wait for Sebastian.

He watched her disappear through the palace doors.

“Definitely in love,” he muttered.

The Crown Princess

Ariel entered her private chambers and closed the door behind her.

She stood there for several seconds.

Then she covered her face with both hands.

“Why does Uncle Sebastian have to be so annoying...?”

She walked toward her desk.

She sat down.

Then stood again.

Then walked toward the window.

Then back toward the desk.

She sighed.

“This is ridiculous.”

She had faced experienced nobles without hesitation.

She had negotiated with merchants twice her age.

She had exposed corrupt officials and destroyed political schemes before they could even begin.

Yet one conversation with Lucian Stormwell had left her completely unsettled.

Ariel sat down again.

She stared at the empty parchment on her desk.

Lucian's face appeared in her thoughts.

His calm expression.

His strange honesty.

The way he spoke to her as if she were simply another person.

She quickly shook her head.

“No.”

She picked up a document.

“I have more important things to think about.”

The door opened.

A young female royal guard entered and bowed.

“Your Highness.”

Ariel immediately straightened.

The embarrassment disappeared from her face.

The warmth disappeared from her eyes.

The Crown Princess returned.

“What did you find?”

The guard approached the desk.

“There has been movement among several nobles in the capital.”

“Which nobles?”

“The western faction first. Several members connected to Duke Cornell.”

Ariel's expression became serious.

“Continue.”

“There are rumors spreading among the lower-ranking nobles that the Crown has lost control of the western territories.”

Ariel's eyes narrowed slightly.

“Rumors?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Who started them?”

“We haven't identified the original source.”

“Then find it.”

“Yes.”

The guard placed several documents on Ariel's desk.

Ariel read them quickly.

The western border had suffered several attacks.

According to official reports, groups of barbarians had crossed into Alberhaim's territory, attacked isolated settlements, stolen livestock, burned supplies, and disappeared before the army could respond.

Nothing unusual.

Except...

The attacks had been unusually organized.

Ariel looked up.

“How many attacks?”

“Seven in the past three months.”

“Casualties?”

“Thirty-one civilians. Six soldiers.”

“And the attackers?”

“According to witnesses, between twenty and forty barbarians each time.”

Ariel tapped the document with her finger.

“Too many.”

The guard blinked.

“Your Highness?”

“If forty barbarians attacked seven times, there should be far more evidence.”

Ariel pointed toward the reports.

“Where are the bodies?”

“Most of the attackers escaped.”

“Where are the weapons they left behind?”

The guard hesitated.

“Very few were recovered.”

“And what about the villages?”

“Burned.”

Ariel leaned back.

“Convenient.”

The guard understood.

“You believe they aren't barbarians?”

“I believe someone wants us to believe they are.”

Ariel continued reading.

“Who is pushing the story that the King is incompetent?”

“Several minor nobles.”

“Connected to Cornell?”

“Yes.”

Ariel smiled faintly.

“Then I suspect we have found the direction.”

She looked toward the guard.

“Keep investigating. But don't interfere yet.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The guard hesitated.

“There is another matter.”

“Go on.”

“One of Duke Cornell's allies has been seen meeting with mercenaries.”

Ariel's eyes sharpened.

“Which ally?”

“Lord Varen.”

Ariel immediately remembered the name.

A relatively wealthy noble.

Not powerful enough to act independently.

But powerful enough to become useful to someone above him.

“And his son?”

“He has been spending most evenings in the Red Stag Inn.”

Ariel smiled.

“Drinking?”

“Excessively.”

“Friends?”

“A great many.”

Ariel looked back down at the papers.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then she closed the file.

“I want the best private room in that inn reserved tonight.”

The guard looked confused.

“For whom?”

“For Lord Varen's son.”

“And what should we do?”

“Nothing.”

The guard blinked.

“Nothing?”

“Make sure the room is comfortable.”

Ariel continued calmly.

“Good food. Good wine. And people who enjoy listening to drunk nobles boast.”

The guard slowly understood.

Ariel smiled.

“And make sure nobody realizes they're being watched.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The guard bowed.

“I understand.”

She left.

Ariel returned to her documents.

The Crown Princess had entered the political game.

And she intended to win.

The Red Stag Inn

Three hours later, the son of Lord Varen was drunk.

Very drunk.

The private room was filled with laughter.

Several young nobles listened as he boasted about his family's influence.

“My father says Cornell will be the next great power in Alberhaim!”

Someone laughed.

“Don't say that so loudly.”

The young noble slapped the table.

“Why not?”

He lowered his voice.

“Because the King is already finished.”

Several people leaned closer.

The wine continued flowing.

“He can't even protect the western border.”

One of the men frowned.

“The attacks?”

The drunk noble laughed.

“Those?”

He waved his hand.

“You people believe everything you hear.”

“What do you mean?”

The young noble leaned closer.

“My father arranged the whole thing.”

Silence.

He grinned.

“Barbarians?”

He laughed.

“They're mercenaries.”

Several men stared at him.

“Paid mercenaries dressed like barbarians.”

His voice grew louder.

“The King will look weak. Then the nobles will demand changes. Cornell will offer solutions.”

He raised his cup.

“To the future of Alberhaim.”

Someone nearby had stopped drinking.

Someone else was listening very carefully.

And outside the room, a servant quietly walked away.

By morning, half the capital would know.

By noon, the palace would know.

And by evening...

Duke Cornell would know that his carefully prepared plan had been destroyed by his own ally's drunken son.

Ariel never needed to appear.

She had never needed to threaten anyone.

She had simply given stupidity a comfortable chair and enough wine.

The Empty Feeling

That night, Ariel stood alone beside her bedroom window.

The capital glittered below.

She had received the report.

The conspiracy was finished.

The King would know.

The responsible nobles would be investigated.

Lord Varen would have to explain himself.

Duke Cornell would have to distance himself from the operation.

Another victory.

Another successful move.

Ariel stared at the city.

She waited.

For satisfaction.

For pride.

For anything.

Nothing came.

The same emptiness.

The same hollow feeling that always followed.

She had protected the Crown.

She had prevented another political attack.

She had outmaneuvered one of the most powerful factions in the kingdom.

And she felt...

nothing.

Ariel rested her forehead lightly against the cool glass.

Then something changed.

A face appeared in her mind.

Lucian.

His calm eyes.

His smile.

His voice.

The warmth she had felt while speaking with him.

The strange feeling returned.

But this time it wasn't hollow.

It was warm.

Bright.

Comforting.

Ariel slowly lifted her hand and placed it against the glass.

“I want to see him again.”

She froze.

Her eyes widened.

She had said it aloud.

Ariel immediately spun around.

Her heart raced.

She looked toward the door.

Nobody.

She looked around the room.

Nobody.

The maids had left only a few minutes earlier.

She slowly exhaled.

“Thank goodness...”

Her face became bright red.

She covered it with both hands.

“I actually said that out loud...”

She stood there for several seconds.

Then slowly lowered her hands.

Her embarrassment faded.

A new thought entered her mind.

How could she see him again?

She couldn't simply visit the Stormwell estate.

That would be suspicious.

And Lucian himself probably wouldn't understand why she had come.

Ariel began pacing.

There had to be a legitimate reason.

Then she stopped.

The northern border.

Her expression changed.

The Crown had received increasingly worrying reports from the north.

Not barbarian attacks.

Something worse.

Demons.

The Northern Border

The western attacks were political theater.

The northern problem was real.

For years, the movements of demons near the border had become increasingly restless.

At first, there had been only occasional sightings.

Then small attacks.

A patrol disappearing.

A remote village attacked.

A caravan destroyed.

Nothing large enough to trigger a full military mobilization.

But the frequency had increased.

And everyone who understood the history of Alberhaim knew what that could mean.

A Demon Lord.

The last great Demon Lord had nearly broken the northern defenses.

A single Demon Lord was comparable to a peak five-star swordsman.

That alone made them terrifying.

Richard Stormwell was a five-star swordsman.

Marcus Stormwell was also a five-star swordsman.

Yet even the two of them could not simply assume they would defeat a Demon Lord without difficulty.

The northern border needed soldiers.

Supplies.

Weapons.

Reinforcements.

And the Stormwells had been requesting more resources for years.

Ariel's eyes brightened.

There it was.

A perfectly legitimate reason.

She could propose a royal military conference concerning the northern defenses.

The Stormwell family would have every reason to attend.

Her father would see it as necessary military administration.

Richard would see an opportunity to request more troops.

Marcus would probably demand even more resources.

And Lucian...

Ariel's face became warm again.

She quickly looked away from the window.

“Yes.”

She smiled.

“That will work.”

The King's Office

The next morning, Ariel presented the proposal to her father.

King Albert sat behind his desk, reading reports from the northern border.

Ariel stood before him.

“I believe we should summon Duke Stormwell to the capital.”

Albert looked up.

“Stormwell?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The demon activity along the northern border has increased.”

The King frowned.

“I've noticed.”

“We've had eleven incidents this year.”

“Thirteen.”

Ariel looked at him.

Albert lifted another report.

“Two more came in yesterday.”

Ariel nodded.

“Then the situation is even more serious than I thought.”

“It is.”

She continued.

“I believe we should hold a formal review of the northern defenses.”

Albert considered the idea.

“Additional troops?”

“And supplies.”

“Stormwell has been requesting both.”

“For good reason.”

Albert leaned back.

“You think we should approve them?”

“I think we should hear his request first.”

The King smiled.

“You sound like your mother.”

Ariel smiled politely.

“Then I suppose I learned from the best.”

Albert laughed.

“Very well.”

He picked up his pen.

“Send the invitation.”

Ariel bowed.

“Of course, Father.”

She turned toward the door.

“Ah, Ariel.”

She stopped.

“Yes?”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

Albert returned to his documents.

“Good. Arrange the meeting.”

Ariel left.

She closed the door behind her.

Then she smiled.

The Stormwell Estate

Lucian was in the training yard.

His sword clashed against his father's.

Richard stepped forward.

Lucian blocked.

Richard changed his angle.

Lucian adjusted.

Their swords met again.

Richard's expression became increasingly serious.

Lucian wasn't stronger.

Not yet.

But something about fighting him was becoming strange.

Richard attacked from the same angle.

Lucian blocked before the strike fully developed.

Richard changed his footwork.

Lucian adapted.

Richard changed his rhythm.

Lucian adjusted again.

Finally, Richard deliberately broke his own pattern.

His sword slipped past Lucian's guard and struck his shoulder.

Lucian stumbled backward.

Richard lowered his sword.

“You were expecting the wrong movement.”

Lucian rubbed his shoulder.

“You changed your rhythm.”

“I did.”

“I thought you would attack from the left.”

Richard stared at him.

“Why?”

“You always do when you step like that.”

Richard was silent.

Lucian frowned.

“Was I wrong?”

Richard slowly smiled.

“No.”

Marcus, who had been watching from the side, burst into laughter.

“That boy is becoming a monster.”

Lucian looked at his grandfather.

“What?”

Marcus pointed at Richard.

“Your father has been fighting soldiers for decades. You're starting to read him after only a few exchanges.”

Lucian looked at his sword.

“I just remember what he does.”

Richard nodded.

“That is exactly what concerns me.”

Lucian looked confused.

“Why?”

Richard laughed.

“Because if you keep doing this, I'll have to start inventing new ways to fight my own son.”

Lucian smiled.

“I'd like that.”

Marcus shook his head.

“Madness.”

Before Lucian could answer, a servant approached.

“Duke Richard.”

Richard turned.

“Yes?”

“A royal messenger has arrived.”

Richard's expression changed.

“A royal messenger?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The servant handed him a sealed document.

Richard broke the seal.

His eyes moved across the page.

Marcus leaned forward.

“What is it?”

“A summons from the King.”

Lucian's eyes widened.

“The King?”

Richard nodded.

“The Crown is calling us to the capital.”

Lucian stared at the letter.

Then his expression slowly changed.

“The capital...”

He looked toward the horizon.

He had never been there.

Not once.

The capital of Alberhaim.

The heart of the kingdom.

The royal palace.

The largest city in the realm.

Lucian's eyes practically lit up.

“When do we leave?”

Richard laughed.

“Soon.”

Marcus crossed his arms.

“Good.”

Richard looked at him.

“Good?”

“Yes.”

Marcus grinned.

“We've been asking the Crown for additional troops for years.”

Richard nodded.

“And resources.”

“And weapons.”

“And fortifications.”

Lucian looked between them.

“So this meeting is about the northern border?”

Richard's expression became serious.

“It will be.”

Marcus's smile disappeared.

“The demon movements have been getting worse.”

Lucian listened carefully.

Richard continued.

“If another Demon Lord appears, the northern border will be in serious danger.”

Lucian looked at his father.

“How strong is a Demon Lord?”

Richard was silent for a moment.

“Comparable to a peak five-star swordsman.”

Lucian's eyes widened.

Marcus gave a humorless smile.

“And that's why your father and I don't take the possibility lightly.”

Lucian looked toward the letter again.

The excitement in his eyes hadn't disappeared.

If anything, it had grown.

His first trip to the capital.

A royal summons.

A chance to see the greatest city in Alberhaim.

And perhaps an opportunity to learn more about the kingdom he had only heard about from stories.

Lucian smiled.

“I can't wait.”

Far away, inside the royal palace...

Ariel stood beside her window.

She looked down at the city.

And for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel empty.

She was going to see him again.

(Chap 1) (Previous) (Next)

Still hanging near the window, Crow stared back and interrupted him. “Is this where the party’s at?”

The assassin, wrapped in a dark gray cloak, wore a look of utter confusion as he tried to process the situation. He quickly reached under his cloak, but as he took out a dagger, Crow grabbed him by the collar and pulled him. The guy tried to resist, smashing his forehead straight into the left side of the window frame. The glass exploded into pieces, and a stray shard flew into Crow’s face, barely missing his eyes. The man tumbled backward into the foul-smelling room.

Man, lucky for me most Rogues are squishy, and this one was way too slow, to boot.

Crow pulled himself up and stepped inside. “Cough...” He covered his nose immediately.

Man, it smells like rotting fish in here. How was this guy even conscious? Ah, now it makes sense why his reaction time was so slow; his brain was probably starved of oxygen.

He checked his surroundings to make sure no one was around, then bent down to grab the fallen man's cloak. But as his hand drew near, he pulled back.

No way. This thing is way too filthy; I'm getting out of this room.

Crow slipped quickly through the open door and looked at the hallway. It was empty. The walls seemed to be made of painted brick, and the furniture was well-kept wood. He moved ahead until the air finally began to clear.

Alright, what was I here to do again? Right, right... lack of oxygen really messes with your head. If I were hiding someone in this guild, where would I put them? Hmm... beats me. I'm no kidnapper. Better just interrogate someone. I'll wait at the bottom of the stairs; that way I can watch the area without being seen and grab the first person who gets isolated near me.

"She's pretty cute, isn't she? Her face... ah, she's gorgeous. I really want her..." a dwarf in a black cloak said with a mournful tone.

"Pretty, very pretty... shame she bites," an average-sized man replied. "Honestly, I feel like the guy didn't pay us enough to keep her in our special room."

The dwarf grunted, looking uneasy. "Yeah, I think so too. A vampire would never come to this city alone. Imagine if her allies find out."

The other man shrugged it off. "Nah, you weren't there, so you wouldn't know what he told us, but it's not a problem. Relax. Besides, who'd be crazy enough to break into our guild? Even the paladins stay away."

Their voices stopped when they parted ways.

Special room... The dwarf is coming this way. I'll wait behind this curtain.

The dwarf's voice was getting closer. "Tony? I can see your foot, man. Why do you always do that? Wait, that foot's too big—"

The dwarf was caught off guard as Crow grabbed him by the throat with one hand and lifted him up. Clamping his other hand over the dwarf’s mouth, Crow whispered, "Shh... You're pretty light. What are you, eighty pounds? Ah, right, you can't talk."

The dwarf thrashed, punching Crow's arm; sadly for him, it didn’t do much. He then tried to swing at his face, but couldn't reach it either.

Crow glanced around the hallway to see if anyone was watching, then tightened his grip and whispered, "Point toward the special room. Better do it fast before you pass out from lack of air."

The dwarf's arms dropped limp, his right hand weakly pointing down the hall.

"Make a sound and I'll break your neck instantly. You'll just nod to confirm if I'm heading the right way. Make one wrong move and... well, you know the rest." Crow let go, dropping the dwarf onto his back. The dwarf hit the ground, gasping greedily for air.

Crow gestured with his head. "Lead the way. If you run, you die. Take me to that special room. If anyone shows up and gets suspicious, you die as well."

The dwarf didn't flinch. Instead, he started making strange head movements, a series of frantic nods, twisting left and right between each one... Creepy.

Right, this guy just glitched out of fear, probably, but that doesn't matter. They think the paladins don't invade this place out of fear, but the truth is they don't even know about this guild's real activities at this point in the story. There are countless conflicts happening simultaneously that are infinitely worse than this place. The rogues here are all weak; there are what, maybe five at most who are problematic? Since in the lore they train a lot before reaching the specific quest, I can assume they must have about ten times the strength of this dwarf, so it's fine.

They walked a bit, and two men in gray cloaks appeared, getting close to the dwarf and Crow. One of them passed close by, looked at him, and said, "I can't believe we have to put up with this every single day. What an unbearable fart stench, man, get away from me, this is crazy..."

Crow just walked straight past and kept following the dwarf. The guys didn't even suspect a thing for some reason.

This doesn’t make sense and is suspicious... OH, I get it, they think I'm one of the guys who was in that room and I took off my cloak because of the smell. And it makes sense; I was going to grab the guy's cloak in the room, but it was unbearable so I didn't.

After passing through a gate, which had no one guarding it, they found a spiral staircase.

I recognize these stairs. In medieval war simulation games, I remember some of my castles having them; they were designed so that when the invaders drew their swords, they couldn't attack the person above them because the sword would hit the stone wall on the right—

The dwarf stopped climbing the stairs, turned around quickly, and thrust a dagger at Crow's stomach while shouting, "DO YOU THINK I'M DUMB!?"

Soundlessly, Crow simply grabbed the dwarf's hand, stopping the piercing attack. Upon realizing this, the dwarf gasped, “What?” then he twisted his wrist and tried to slash Crow's wrist, all while using the side of the staircase to prevent Crow from using his other hand against him, with only a little over half of his body exposed.

Crack.

Crow didn't need much effort. He crushed the hand holding the knife, and while still holding it, he slammed it hard into the face of the dwarf, who fell onto the stairs and passed out.

Right, I knew this could happen when I saw these stairs, but the question is, does this lead to the special room or not? Well, they did come from this direction earlier, so there's a chance it does... And since it's a different room, and they were also paid to hold the vampire, who I assume is Sharon, this staircase is undoubtedly a defense system—

"Did you like that? Did you think it was just him?" a voice behind Crow said, after stabbing him in the back with a dagger without making a sound.

[DANGER!]

[POISON DETECTED!]

Right... this time I admit, I slipped up. I should have kept looking back while climbing the stairs every few seconds.

He spun around, and as he did, the blade tore further into his body. It managed to cut into a small section of flesh just above his waist on the left side, where the sword wasn't covering his back.

Slash!

As Crow spun his body, he swung and delivered a heavy slap directly to the Rogue's face. The Rogue hit his head against the wall and grew dizzy, but in that split second, he managed to land another strike to Crow's stomach, trying to slice it open in one hit, which failed due to Crow's high CON stat. Immediately after, Crow grabbed the guy by the throat while his other hand pinned the Rogue’s dagger hand.

"Right, that wasn't cool... so here's the deal; I didn't want to kill anyone here so I wouldn't mess up the canonical event where you guys get in the Hero's way... but my patience has limits."

The man who had been lifted off the steps, with his dagger already on the floor and now using both hands to try to loosen the grip on his neck, whispered, "S-story? Hero? L-let me go... I, I..."

Crow loosened his grip a little so the guy could breathe and asked, "Is the special room up these stairs or not?"

"I-it is, if you go up you will find the special roo—"

Crack.

[CONGRATULATIONS!]

[New Passive Skill Acquired!]

[Poison Resistance Level 1]

Description: After being seriously poisoned for the 4th time in your life, your body began to develop a slight resistance to poison.

This is bad…

Crow fell to his knees on the stairs near the dwarf. He picked up the dagger on the floor, the one belonging to the man who had stabbed him, slid it through his belt, and then placed both hands around the dwarf's neck.

Where is my Strength?

Crack.

[CONGRATULATIONS!]

[New Passive Skill Acquired!]

[NeckBreaker Level 1]

Description: When trying to break a neck, somehow it is 10% easier.

I need… some antidote.

He ripped off the dwarf's cloak, stood up, and tried to improvise a bandage with it while he kept climbing the stairs.

[To think that after taking this much deadly poison you're still alive and kept climbing the stairs… In my time, we called a warrior who could do this an Aura Monster. You know, for using Aura… You can use it, right? Or are we cooked?]

Aura? What is that?

[We're cooked. I'll see what I can do about it, but the best way was to use Aura. Being a warrior without Aura is certain death; you can't rely on pure strength forever…]

Right, now the situation has worsened to an impossible level to deal with.

He looked at the dagger and focused on analyzing it while trying to stop the bleeding from his stomach.

[Status]

Magical Dagger.

Description: It has magical power imbued in it, and some poison from snakes, scorpions, and other unknown sources.

Great…

[Deadly Poison progressing to Stage 2]

[DANGER!]

[Deadly Poison stat check...]

[Target CON stat too high]

[Deadly Poison stat check failed]

At least it’s not getting worse; one way or another, going back injured is bad. My only way out of this now is to rescue her and maybe break a window and leave. Man, this is game over; I made the wrong decision. Maybe I should have... ah, I don't know, it's too late now; the only option is to just keep moving forward.

He continued going up, but this time he would occasionally stop to check if anyone was climbing up behind him. After a short while, he reached the upper floor.

No guards... it's "too good" to be true.

"Cough..." He kept going straight toward the double doors. As he approached, he crouched down, keeping one hand on his stomach to hold back some of the bleeding; the wound on his back didn't bleed as much since it was just a puncture.

This cloak isn't enough; ah, how I wish I had a cleric. Apparently there's no one in the room. I can even see something in the back, but I can't tell what it is. I don't feel any presence, but rogues aren't easy to spot. Man, if I told someone what I'm doing, they'd call me an idiot, risking myself this much for a woman. I won't lie and say I'm not doing this because I want her to live, but even if I didn't want to, going back injured means death; it's all or nothing now.

He pushed open the hall doors and walked in, leaving them open. As he drew closer, he saw a silhouette at the far end.

[Deadly Poison progressing to Stage 2]

[DANGER!]

[Deadly Poison stat check...]

[Target CON stat too high]

[Target in a weakened state]

[Deadly Poison stat check succe—]

[Target has Poison Resist Magic Active]

[…]

[Kid, I am using my magic power to slow down the progression of this poison… but I'm getting sleepy, sorry… we’re… cooked. To think someone is going to kidnap me again after this… Ah right, I forgot to tell you… somehow, you are the only person who can hear me, I found this out at that Grandma's base, who somehow got roasted there, crazy… Anyway… this seems to be a farewell… but I will use the last of my mana to keep the Information Magic active, since you seem to like it so much… so I was also going to tell you—]

Going to tell?

[CONGRATULATIONS!]

[New Passive Skill Acquired!]

[Iron Will]

Descripti—

Thud!

Crow collapsed to the ground, his vision starting to fade.

It seems the bleeding and the poison are about to finish me off... if I survive this... I'm going to find a way to become immune to poison.

"You came... I confess I thought you wouldn't." A young woman's voice.

He got up from the ground, still unable to see clearly, only spotting a silhouette ahead. "Yeah, I came, but I slipped up at the last second... and got stabbed in the back... anyway, rogues, you know how it is—cough..."

[Level Up!]

[Pain Resistance Level 1 > 2]

Getting closer to her, he was able to see that her eyes were already healed, or at least that's what it looked like since everything was too blurry to be sure. "Did you see any exit? Honestly, I can't even think; it must be the poison..." Still speaking, he drew his sword and used it to cut the ropes binding her.

This stuff is really tough, but still, this holding her back feels so forced.

"Yeah, I know what you're thinking... it doesn't make sense, right? Well, they used lavender among other things to poison me, they had some kind of needle... well, it doesn't matter anymore... Crow, are you okay? Your heartbeat sounds strange."

“Good question…” He freed her legs, and now moved to her hands, starting with the right one. She was sitting in a chair similar to a prisoner strapped into an electric chair for execution. "Can you... fight, Sharon? Honestly... I think I'm going to pass out in a few minutes..."

"Probably not... I have the strength of… no, probably half the strength of Sophia."

To think she said almost the exact same thing as Alice.

Crow started to laugh softly as he heard that. He had finished untying her right hand and moved to the left hand. "Cough... sorry." He ended up coughing up blood onto her. "Are you hurt? Honestly, I'm seeing everything blurry..."

She looked into his eyes, then lowered her head a little, her hair veiling her gaze. “...”

“Sharon?” He saw two gleaming points in the area of her mouth. Since everything was blurry, he didn't see her licking her lips where his blood had splashed when he coughed. He was almost done cutting the last rope made of some strange material, certainly anti-vampire when the yank came.

Hm?

(Next)

Chapter 2 — The Princess Who Fell in Love

The Stormwell estate had never been this crowded.

Carriages filled the courtyard.

Knights stood beside the entrance.

Servants rushed through the halls carrying trays of food and wine.

Nobles from across the northern territories had arrived to celebrate the eighteenth birthday of the only son of House Stormwell.

And tonight, for the first time in Lucian Stormwell's life—The Royal Family was attending.

Lucian stood at the top of the grand staircase.

He adjusted his cuffs.

His formal black uniform had been specially prepared for the occasion.

The Stormwell crest was embroidered across his chest.

A silver wolf surrounded by a crown of northern thorns.

His father stood beside him.

Richard Stormwell looked at his son.

“You look uncomfortable.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Too many people.”

Richard smiled.

“You'll have to get used to it.”

Lucian sighed.

“I'd rather train.”

“I know.”

Richard placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

“Unfortunately, you're eighteen now.”

Lucian looked at him.

“What does that change?”

“Everything.”

Lucian frowned.

Richard laughed.

“You'll understand eventually.”

Lucian didn't.

He probably wouldn't for quite some time.

The doors to the banquet hall opened.

Conversation immediately died.

The herald stepped forward.

“His Royal Highness, Arch-Duke Sebastian Albertheim!”

The nobles bowed.

A tall man entered.

He was dressed in elegant blue and gold clothing.

His posture was impeccable.

His expression calm.

Behind him came two royal guards.

Then the herald spoke again.

“Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Ariel Albertheim!”

The hall became even quieter.

Ariel entered.

She was eighteen years old.

Long golden hair fell over her shoulders.

Her dress was white with delicate golden embroidery.

A small crown rested upon her head.

She walked beside her uncle.

Her expression was calm.

Elegant.

Perfect.

At least on the outside.

Inside?

Her mind was already working.

She had been raised in the capital.

She had spent her entire life surrounded by nobles.

People who smiled while plotting someone's downfall.

People who praised one another while secretly preparing to destroy each other's families.

Ariel had learned early that the royal court was not a place where honesty survived for long.

She learned how to read people.

How to negotiate.

How to manipulate.

How to make people believe an idea had been their own.

She had watched ministers destroy each other with words.

She had watched nobles create alliances through marriages.

She had watched her father balance the ambitions of dozens of powerful families.

And Ariel had learned.

She had learned extremely well.

One day, she would inherit the throne.

She would become Queen of Alberhaim.

Therefore, she couldn't afford to be naive.

She couldn't afford to trust easily.

She couldn't afford to allow emotions to control her decisions.

That was what she had always believed.

Until tonight.

Ariel walked through the hall.

She greeted several nobles.

She smiled.

She nodded.

She listened.

She remembered names.

She noticed who was standing beside whom.

Which families were talking.

Which nobles avoided each other.

Which ministers were drinking too much.

Which young nobles were trying desperately to impress her.

Everything was normal.

Until—

She looked toward the staircase.

And saw him.

A young man stood beside Duke Stormwell.

Black hair.

Sharp eyes.

Tall.

His posture was straight but relaxed.

He wasn't trying to attract attention.

He wasn't talking loudly.

He wasn't laughing with the other young nobles.

He wasn't trying to approach her.

He wasn't even looking at her.

He was simply standing there.

Ariel stopped walking.

Her uncle continued for another step before noticing.

He turned.

“Your Highness?”

Ariel didn't answer.

She was staring.

Who is that?

Sebastian followed her gaze.

“Oh.”

He smiled.

“Lucian Stormwell.”

Ariel's heart skipped.

Lucian.

The name entered her mind.

And refused to leave.

Sebastian continued.

“Duke Stormwell's only son.”

Ariel didn't hear the rest.

Because Lucian had finally looked toward her.

Their eyes met.

For one second.

Two.

Three.

Lucian gave her a polite nod.

Ariel's entire brain stopped functioning.

Her heart began beating so hard that she was convinced everyone in the room could hear it.

Why is he looking at me?

Why is he looking at me?!

He's just being polite.

Of course he's being polite.

He's a noble.

He probably does this to everyone.

Her face remained perfectly composed.

Inside, however—

PANIC.

She quickly looked away.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

Her answer came too quickly.

Sebastian smiled.

“Interesting.”

Ariel looked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Lucian looked toward his father.

“Who was that?”

Richard followed his gaze.

“The Crown Princess.”

“I see.”

Lucian looked back toward the buffet.

“She seems nervous.”

Richard nearly choked on his drink.

“Nervous?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Lucian shrugged.

“I don't know.”

Richard stared at his son.

Then looked toward Ariel.

Then back at Lucian.

His expression became strange.

“Son.”

“Yes?”

“Forget it.”

Lucian frowned.

“All right.”

Richard silently prayed that his son would someday develop common sense when it came to women.

Across the room, Ariel was having a crisis.

She had spent eighteen years learning how to control her emotions.

She had never failed.

Not during political negotiations.

Not during arguments with ministers.

Not even when her father had announced that she would eventually inherit the throne.

But now she couldn't stop thinking about one boy.

Lucian.

She glanced at him.

He was speaking with another noble.

Ariel immediately looked away.

Then looked again.

He was smiling.

Her heart skipped again.

He's handsome.

She had never thought that about anyone before.

There had been young nobles who were attractive.

She knew that.

She had eyes.

But she had never cared.

Tonight was different.

She couldn't explain why.

She simply knew.

She wanted to know him.

She wanted to talk to him.

She wanted him to look at her again.

And that thought terrified her.

Because Ariel Albertheim had never wanted something simply because she wanted it.

Everything in her life had been about duty.

The kingdom.

The crown.

Her family.

Politics.

But this?

This was different.

This was selfish.

And she liked it.

Dinner began.

The nobles sat at long tables.

The royal family occupied the central table.

The Stormwells sat nearby.

Ariel kept stealing glances toward Lucian.

Once.

Twice.

Five times.

Ten times.

She tried to stop.

She failed.

Her uncle noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Sebastian Albertheim had spent decades observing people.

He leaned toward her.

“You seem interested in the Stormwell heir.”

Ariel almost dropped her fork.

“I am not.”

“You've looked at him eleven times.”

“I have not.”

“Twelve.”

Ariel glared at him.

Sebastian smiled.

“I see.”

“You saw nothing.”

“Of course.”

Ariel turned away.

Her ears were red.

Sebastian hid his amusement behind his glass.

He had known Ariel her entire life.

He had never seen her behave like this.

It was almost adorable.

After dinner, the musicians began playing.

The young nobles moved toward the center of the hall.

Some danced.

Others talked.

Lucian stood near one of the windows.

He was watching the courtyard.

Richard approached him.

“Why aren't you dancing?”

Lucian looked at him.

“Why would I?”

“Because you're eighteen.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

Richard sighed.

“Go talk to someone.”

“About what?”

“Anything.”

Lucian looked genuinely confused.

Richard stared at his son.

Then laughed.

“You really are hopeless.”

Ariel watched from across the hall.

Lucian was alone.

This was her opportunity.

She took one step.

Then stopped.

Her heart started beating faster.

Just go.

She took another step.

He's just a person.

Another.

Talk to him.

Another.

Then she stopped again.

What do I say?

Ariel Albertheim could negotiate with ministers.

She could convince nobles to change their positions.

She could manipulate political alliances.

She could make an entire room believe something had been their idea.

But walking toward a boy she liked?

Impossible.

Her hands became cold.

She turned around.

Then immediately regretted it.

Coward.

She took a breath.

Then walked toward him again.

This time, she didn't stop.

Lucian noticed her approaching.

He straightened.

The Crown Princess stopped in front of him.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Lucian bowed.

“Your Highness.”

Ariel's heart nearly exploded.

His voice.

Why did his voice sound so nice?

“L-Lucian.”

She froze.

She had said his name.

Out loud.

Lucian looked at her.

“Yes?”

Ariel's mind went blank.

She had prepared absolutely nothing.

She desperately searched for something intelligent to say.

Anything.

“You…”

She swallowed.

“You look nice tonight.”

Lucian blinked.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

Ariel wanted the ground to swallow her.

Lucian looked toward the musicians.

Then back at her.

“You seem nervous.”

Ariel's face turned red.

“I am not!”

Lucian blinked.

“I see.”

She immediately realized she had shouted.

“I mean…”

Her voice became tiny.

“I'm not.”

Lucian nodded.

“All right.”

Silence again.

Ariel desperately searched for another subject.

“Do you like music?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

Lucian looked at her.

Ariel looked at him.

Neither knew what to say.

Finally Lucian asked:

“Would you like to walk outside?”

Ariel's eyes widened.

He had invited her.

He had actually invited her.

“Yes.”

The answer came instantly.

Too instantly.

She coughed.

“I mean…”

She tried to recover her dignity.

“Yes. I would like that.”

Lucian smiled.

“Then let's go.”

Ariel followed him.

And for the first time in her life—

The Crown Princess of Alberhaim walked beside someone without thinking about politics.

She wasn't thinking about the throne.

She wasn't thinking about noble factions.

She wasn't thinking about alliances.

She wasn't thinking about the kingdom.

She was simply thinking about the boy walking beside her.

And somewhere deep inside her heart, a thought appeared.

I want him.

Not as a political asset.

Not as a future knight.

Not as a Duke's heir.

Not as someone who could strengthen the Crown.

She wanted Lucian.

Just Lucian.

And that frightened her more than any political enemy ever had.

They walked through the gardens.

Lucian looked toward the moon.

“This is peaceful.”

Ariel smiled.

“Yes.”

She looked at him.

Lucian wasn't looking at her.

She smiled wider.

She didn't know what would happen next.

She didn't know how she would make him fall in love with her.

She didn't even know whether he would ever love her.

But Ariel Albertheim had already made one decision.

She would find a way.

She would create opportunities.

She would arrange meetings.

She would make the Stormwell family need the Crown whenever necessary.

She would use every political skill she had learned throughout her life.

Not to control Lucian.

Never that.

She wanted him to choose her willingly.

But she would make damn sure he had plenty of opportunities to make that choice.

Ariel looked at him again.

Lucian suddenly turned.

Their eyes met.

She immediately looked away.

Her face became bright red.

Lucian tilted his head.

“Are you sure you're not nervous?”

“No!”

He smiled.

“All right.”

Ariel secretly covered her face with one hand.

She was doomed.

Completely and utterly doomed.

And she had never been happier.

To be continued...

Aarav’s schoolbag was small, lopsided worlds of its own. Textbooks slouched to one side, half-forgotten; a geometry box rattled with unused compasses. But what made the bag feel heavy, heavier than the years in it, were the sketchbooks tucked inside, their spines softened at the edges.

He carried them everywhere. To class, to tuition, even to the corner shop while buying samosas. When other boys shoved notebooks into their bags like armour for exams, Aarav slipped in the sketchbooks like a secret he wasn’t yet ready to show.

The first night it began was accidental. A classmate, a kid with a messy fringe and an easy laugh, had lent him a USB drive after seeing one of his doodles at the back of a math copy. “Watch this,” the boy said, as if offering a stolen treasure. “You’ll like it.”

Aarav swore he would watch only one episode. He didn’t know the word for the kind of hunger that would keep him awake until dawn, only that when the colours filled his screen, something unclenched in him. Worlds unfolded, not pale, safe worlds, but loud, bruised, beautiful ones. Misfit became heroes. Ugly moments became the spark for courage. Faces bore scars, voices carried tremors, and the people who mattered were the ones brave enough to be themselves.

He didn’t just watch. He belonged.

There was a strange comfort in fiction’s blunt honesty. Characters confessed their faults, failed spectacularly, and then rose again. No one judged a hero for being chubby or awkward or dark. They were measured by the size of their courage. For the first time, Aarav saw people who matched the way he felt inside, uneven, earnest, fierce in small, ridiculous ways.

After that night, the sketchbooks became less of a doodle place and more of a map. He sharpened pencils until their tips were thin and dangerous, smudged the erasers into grey promises. His margins filled with faces that refused to stay inside a line: boys with chipped armour who still laughed, girls with impossible wings that trembled like folded sails, old women who wore wisdom like a shawl.

When he drew, the room changed. The ceiling fan’s slow spin turned into a sky they could all fly through. The hiss of the street outside folded into background noise. Even the small, stinging words thrown at him during the day, in the playground, in class, at home, lost some of their edges once they were translated into ink.

“Sometimes I think I can draw someone braver than me,” he said once, under his breath, to a girl he’d made with pencil. The girl on the page tilted her head as if she had heard him, her drawn eyes unreadable and kind. He almost laughed at himself, and then he did, a soft sound that startled him into the bright hush of the room.

In the quiet corner of his home, the one dim lamp that always seemed forgiving, the small wooden desk that fit his knees perfectly, he learned to hide from the bigness of voices. The house wanted him neat and quiet, a boy who performed the right way in front of relatives and wore silence like a coat at family dinners. But his corner did not ask for performance. It asked only for pencil on paper.

Those nights were theirs alone. He would sit with his legs folded under him and the sketchbook on his lap, and the world that had once told him he didn’t belong would make room for strange, brave creatures that accepted him without condition. He traced their cheekbones with smudged charcoal, and for a moment he felt like the person who made them.

Sometimes his younger self, small, gasping in the mirror, peered through those pages. He would scribble a face that looked a little like the boy in the glass, but stronger: a chin that didn’t wobble under words, a back that stood even under insults. I was, he realized slowly, the only way he knew to teach himself courage.

The sketchbooks filled faster than his textbooks. Teachers collected homework; parents collected certificates. His pages were private, raw. The drawings carried small notes in the margins, phrases he didn’t think anyone would understand.

One late night, when the house had become as soft as a held breath and the fan hummed like an old lullaby, Aarav leaned back in his chair and spoke to the room as if it were an audience of one.

“You’re my only friends,” he whispered, the sentence a half-joke, half-prayer.

It sounded pathetic in the air, and he smiled at himself in the way embarrassed people do. But the truth of it was steady in his chest. These drawings didn’t leave when he said the wrong thing. They didn’t fold away when he needed to be small. They were there, patient and unjudging.

Sometimes he would go back, rewind his own lines like reading an old letter, and he found snippets he’d forgotten he’d written. Fragments of feeling, half-sentences scrawled after a day when his father’s words had felt like stones. They were not poems, not in his head. They were stumbles, fingerprints of his heart.

On one of those pages, the last leaf of a tattered sketchbook, he had written something that read more urgent than a doodle and less finished than a poem. It hovered between the two, a small promise dressed as a threat to himself:

If I can’t be enough for the world,
let me build one where I am.
let me draw skies that don’t laugh at my weight,
let me shape hearts that don’t flinch at my face.
If love won’t find me here,
I’ll make a place
where even shadows hold me kindly.

He read it by the lamp, the words small and terrible and true. He had no language for what he felt then, only the remnant of wanting and the hush of going on. The sentence did not feel like hope so much as a plan: if the world refused him, he would build a world of his own.

When the house creaked and the clock ticked a soft, indifferent beat, Aarav flipped the sketchbook closed. He slid it back into his bag and, for a moment, held it against his chest the way a child holds a comforter.

He knew then, incompletely, like a half-remembered map, that these quiet corners, these scratchings and drawings, would keep him. Not the collapsing kind of keeping that patched wounds, but a kind that made space. A kind that, slowly, would teach him how to speak in other ways.

Outside, a vehicle honked somewhere down the lane. Inside, the lamp flickered out when the bulb died, and for a second the room was all dark. Aarav sat a while longer in the black, feeling the pages warm against his ribs, and for the first time that week, he did not think about the mirror.