Mira’s eyes drifted down the long corridor. Someone was walking past. That gait, that hair—she felt as if she had seen it somewhere before. And those eyes… why did they seem so sad? Had they always carried that deep blue, the color of loneliness that stretched across a day?
Before she could finish the thought, she found herself running toward him. Of course—she had always been like this as a child. She waved her hand, calling after him, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t he hear her?
The corridor was too narrow, and the wall on the other side… it didn’t look very high…
She hoisted herself onto the top of it and ran on the wall.
“Hey,” she said, still catching her breath, “wait!”
Her smile widened. “Are you also new here? Wanna make friends with me?”
She held out her hand, proud and direct.
“Mira Larkspur. Nine years old. I stay in Block C.”
She waited, hand hovering between them like a bright little bridge.
She paced him from above, arms half out, then pulled tight to her sides as she sped up. “Hey!” she called again, still grinning. “Do you live here or are you just visiting? Are you from a science team? Do you speak English?”
No response.
“I can guess languages too, you know! Just blink twice for yes!”
Still, nothing.
That’s right… that was him. He always liked this—looking through the air as if she were invisible.
“How long are you staying?” she tried again. “A week? A month? If it’s just a few days we can still—”
Her foot slid off the edge before she even finished her sentence. The moss-slick patch had caught her at full stride, and suddenly the world tilted sideways.
For one brief second, the sky swirled above her, the path vanished beneath, and Mira let out a yelp—loud enough to register disappointment.
Oh no. Not again.
Her body pitched forward, air rushing past her cheeks, and she shut her eyes with the solemn grace of someone who’d already accepted her fate.
This was too soon for another broken bone, Mira. She could still remember how terrible it was, lying in hospital beds again and again. Everyone said her bones healed like a miracle, but she couldn’t stay still for even a second.
The image of the nurse, and her voice, had been as clear as the sky, told her to “enjoy the peace.” Her breath had held tight in her chest as she waited for the impact. Braced for it. The sharp jolt. The sting in her wrist. The familiar burn of a scraped elbow.
But none of it came.
Warmth. Something soft but unyielding.
Stillness.
Then, a voice broke the silence beneath her.
“Could you please stand up. You’re heavy.”
Her eyes snapped open.
She was lying across him.
One knee awkwardly planted against his ribs, an arm somewhere near his shoulder, hair half in her face. She froze.
The boy didn’t look particularly pleased about it. His blue eyes stared up toward the sky above the courtyard, face unreadable, the same calm detachment as before—but now slightly flattened by the fact that she was sitting on top of him.
Mira scrambled off with a mixture of excitement.
“Did you—did you catch me?”
He sat up, brushed at his sleeve, and looked at her like she’d just asked if rain was wet.
“Did you think I’m deaf?”
She flushed, flustered. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to— I just—since you didn’t answer, I thought maybe—”
“Is this how you introduce yourself?” he asked, as cold as ice. “Through accidents?”
Mira grinned.
Still sitting on him, as if weight and dignity were things to discuss later, she tilted her head, green eyes sharp and bright.
“But I made you speak eventually.”
For a second, he said nothing. And that only encouraged her.
“So, what’s your name?” she asked, too quickly for him to cut her off. “You know mine. Mira. Are you staying long? What block are you in? Do you have any free time? Can we play something? Not tag—I’m terrible at it. Maybe cards? Or mapping the perimeter? Or sneaking into the canteen kitchen—”
He stared at her as if she were malfunctioning.
“Is there a reason,” he asked slowly, “you’re still sitting on me?”
“Yes,” she said without missing a beat. “You’ll leave if I get up.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” she said, grinning wider. “I’ve seen that walk. You will disappear the moment I blink. So I’m staying right here until you answer.”
“You don’t need to know my name,” he muttered.
“But I want to,” she said, as if that made it obvious.
He didn’t move. She didn’t either.
“You’re not going to leave, are you?”
“Not until you tell me.”
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He blinked slowly. Thought about all the possible ways this could go. None of them ended with peace. He didn’t sigh out loud, but his face made a tiny I-give-up kind of look.
“…Aiden.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“You wanted a name.”
“That’s not your real one, is it?”
His gaze flicked up—sharp, brief.
“I don’t owe you a real one.”
“Okay. Can you play with me?”
“No.”
She tried again, undeterred. “What are you doing here anyway? This place is kind of boring unless you find something to do. How do you spend your time?”
Still nothing.
But her eyes wandered—down to the neat bag beside him, then back to the way his face didn’t shift or blink or crinkle like most kids when they were bored. She leaned forward a little, dramatic, then slapped her hands over her mouth.
“No way. Don’t tell me you came here for work. Studying?”
His silence was answer enough.
She gasped. “You are! You’re studying, aren’t you? What are you even studying? Can we study together? I can be noble if I try. And I’m good at science—especially when there’s no math. Unless mushrooms count.”
“No.”
“But I’m fun,” she said with complete sincerity. “And! I’m going to the NGO center to play with the kids there. I can ask my dad to register your name too. You know, so we can go together.”
He didn’t speak, but something flickered in his eye—small, almost invisible, and she could sense it.
Her grin widened. “Ohhh. You do want to. Don’t you? I knew it.”
She reached forward suddenly and stuck out her pinky.
“Deal?” she asked.
He looked at it like it was a foreign object.
“I don’t make deals.”
She just kept holding it out. “That’s okay. I do. You don’t even have to pinky swear back.
“Meet me at the library tomorrow. Seven p.m.”, she said, voice light and certain.
He looked at her then, as if recalculating something. She was still grinning like she’d already won. Like she always did.
Then, precisely, he reached up.
One hand, then the other, lifting her hands off his shoulders with the same composure someone might use to close a book mid-chapter.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
She didn’t argue.
She stepped back as he stood. They rose almost at the same time, like a choreography neither of them agreed to but somehow performed anyway.
Mira stood there and gave the biggest wave she could manage, one arm sweeping through the air like a flag in celebration.
“Bye, Aiden! See you tomorrow!”
He didn’t answer and never looking back.
She knew. She knew he could’ve pushed her away from the start. Could’ve ignored her, could’ve told her nothing. But he hadn’t. And that made her chest warm, a simple happiness blooming inside her, unexpected but real.
Aiden… was that his name? She should have asked his real name. Why was he hiding it? How could she keep missing someone like him without even knowing his name properly?
She could remember. She had waited for him like endlessly at the library.
She picked a corner seat near a low window, not too close to the shelves that loomed like silent guards, not too hidden either—just in case someone came looking. Just in case he came looking.
By 8:10, she told herself he was just late.
By 8:20, she told herself maybe he got the time wrong.
By 8:30, she wondered if he ever intended to come at all.
She looked up at the wall clock again and again, each minute stretching longer, the silence turning heavier. The library felt bigger now, like it was waiting for something to happen.
By 8:59, she was sure of only one thing—she would wait until ten if she had to. Even if her heart felt silly. Even if the wind outside howled a little too loudly, her feet itched to run back to her room.
By 9:08, her eyes were heavier than her thoughts.
She had read the same sentence three times. The words blurred together like a fogged window, her mind drifting toward the silence between them instead. Her head leaned slowly against the side of the bookshelf. Just for a second, she told herself.
He would come.
She didn’t know why she believed that, only that she did. Like how she believe in summer rain, or in fireflies coming out if she waited long enough under the trees.
Outside the windows, the night air pressed against the glass—muffled crickets, the far-off whisper of the sea, and the wind stirring the trees just like a lullaby. She could feel it around her as her eyes grew heavy among the breathing of the books.
What was this feeling, what was this sound—like a heartbeat too familiar to ignore. The footstep, the breath, this warmth… had he been staying there all along?
“Got you.”
She reached her hand toward him, eyes still closed, but she knew he was there. She knew he would come, and she would wait.
“…Are you supposed to be asleep?”
Of course he asked.
“I didn’t mean to,” she murmured. “Just needed a bit of rest. For a second.”
She couldn’t admit she’d been carried away—for a second, or for hours. What time was it now? She didn’t know. She had promised Harrison she’d be back before ten.
“Look,” she said suddenly, pulling a folded paper from her pocket and smoothing it out with both hands. “I already talked to my dad. He needs your guardian’s consent form,” she continued. “He said he needs to meet you and your guardian—just to make it official. You can come by tomorrow morning, at seven. Before my dad leaves. Just bring whoever’s responsible for you.”
He stared at the paper for a long second.
“And if I don’t?”
She shrugged. “Then I’ll probably end up dragging you there next week anyway. But it’ll be more paperwork.”
Obviously—that was her. She never gave up. Was it because she thought he needed her? Or because she needed him? She wasn’t sure. But she made it happen anyway.
He didn’t answer.
She smiled. “See you at seven.”
“…What’s the schedule?” he asked, still looking at the form.
Mira blinked. “Huh?”
“For the NGO center,” he said again, calm but direct. “I won’t be there every day.”
“Oh. Well, mornings and afternoons are both open. Volunteers can choose.”
He nodded slightly. “I’ll go in the morning.”
“Really?” Her face lit up. “Me too! My dad’s letting me stay there most mornings.”
“I can do two or three days a week,” he added, still not meeting her eyes. “That’s all.”
“Two or three is fine.” She leaned closer, trying not to bounce. “We can go together, then. It’s more fun that way. I can show you the good parts. And maybe the not-so-good parts. Depends.”
He didn’t comment—just took the form from her hands, folded it neatly.
“I’ll bring it tomorrow. Seven a.m. With my guardian.”
Finally, Mira couldn’t hide her smile. That was the happiest thing she’d heard all day—maybe in a long time. Back then, she’d thrown her arms around him without thinking, a swift, grateful hug that felt like sunlight spilling in frost. Like they’d known each other for years, even if they’d only just met.
That summer had felt like forever—the endless hours on the beach together, the afternoons wandering the botanical garden, the secret rescue mission they’d shared. Everything was just like a dream.
Ever since then, she tried harder, stayed more focused, challenged herself, and treated every step toward her future with deeper resolve — all because she wanted to become strong enough to shield the ones who had no voice, and to stand at the same height beside him, when their paths might finally cross again.
Where was he now, she wondered?
Was he carrying that same calmness, that same sadness? Were his eyes still as deep as the sea?
He hadn’t replied to a single message since then. Would it be okay if she just moved on? What was that feeling she’d had for him—something small, fleeting, yet impossible to forget?
And why did this warmth, this rhythm beside her, feel so familiar?
Almost without thinking, Mira lifted her hand and held on a little tighter to the arm next to her.
Maybe it was fine to just let things go on like this...
?
It was almost pitiable for Mira, Solri thought, watching the image ripple on the water mirror.
Missing her first love for years, never knowing he was sitting right beside her now, telling her he would wait until her heart opened again—
“Whimsical, isn’t it?” he murmured.
The Fairy Queen’s reflection curved into a smile. “Should we make him make up for it, just a ‘little’?”
Outside, the night seemed to agree.
As the first snow of the season began its gentle dance from the sky, each flake a tiny star spun from moonlight, it traced over rooftops and streetstones a silvery veil, turning the city into something soft and dreamlike. Along the roadside, trees still carried their late-autumn yellow, and the drifting white passed through those luminous leaves like two unseen spirits, both swirling together as if two worlds were greeting one another in the same single breath.
Long ago, before either of them could know, the stars had written their names upon the same page of an old tale, now waiting to write the next line of their fate, when the sun crossed the moon, the earth held its breath, and two seasons interchanged in one moment...
And who could say what gentle surprise might find them next?
?