The following morning arrived wrapped in golden sunlight and the faint aroma of spring dew clinging to the windowsill. Birds chirped outside my window, their soft melodies a rare kind of peace that made it hard to rise from the warmth of my bed. For a few blissful seconds, I simply lay there, eyes half-closed, soaking in the rare serenity.
Then the knock came.
Three gentle taps, followed by a too-familiar voice. "Sera? You awake? If not, I'm coming in anyway."
The door opened a crack before I could even answer, and Claire's face peeked through with a grin that screamed mischief.
"You're not dressed yet? We have Gardening Club in ten minutes!"
I groaned, dragging a pillow over my face. "I thought today was a rest day."
"It was. But then Tessa found new seeds, and Camille said she'd stop by. So… not anymore!" Claire entered fully now, bouncing slightly on her heels. "Besides, fresh air will help with whatever sappy feelings you've been drowning in lately."
"I don't drown in feelings," I muttered, though my face betrayed me when I remembered last night. Diana's kiss. Camille's warmth. Lillian's fingers brushing mine beneath the table. Even Tessa's quiet gaze, ever present like a soft flame that never dimmed.
I was drowning, alright. Just not in the way Claire thought.
"You're blushing again," Claire teased, flopping dramatically onto the edge of my bed.
"I am not."
She only laughed, her violet eyes dancing. "Come on, let's go before Tessa thinks we've bailed."
Grumbling, I got ready while Claire raided my fruit bowl and muttered something about breakfast being 'essential for emotional resilience.'
By the time we arrived at the gardening terrace, the sun was bright overhead, casting playful shadows through the hanging vines and tall hedges. Lillian was already there, her pastel hair gently tucked behind one ear as she knelt beside a planter of white camellias. The sunlight caught her green eyes in a way that made them shimmer, and when she looked up and smiled at me—soft, slow, and knowing—I nearly forgot how to walk.
"You made it," she said sweetly, standing and brushing dirt from her gloves. "I was worried you'd stay in bed all day."
"She almost did," Claire announced, earning herself a shove from me and a light laugh from Lillian.
Tessa was at the far edge, tending to the new seeds with a kind of focused calm that was almost meditative. Her long black hair was pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder, and the sleeves of her uniform were rolled to the elbow. Despite the relaxed atmosphere, her presence felt like something still and watchful. She glanced our way and offered the barest nod of greeting—which for Tessa, was practically a hug.
We fell into an easy rhythm. Watering. Weeding. Occasionally stealing glances when we thought no one was looking.
Camille arrived not long after, dressed in her Drama Club ensemble as if she had just come from rehearsal. Her platinum hair was swept elegantly over one shoulder, and the faintest trace of stage makeup lingered at her eyes.
"Oh, how domestic," she mused as she stepped into the garden. "I must say, Sera, seeing you with a watering can brings me joy I didn't know I needed."
"Don't start," I warned, already blushing.
But Camille only smiled in that graceful way of hers, strolling up and plucking a leaf from my hair with fingers that lingered a beat too long. "You're blooming nicely, you know."
Claire gagged from somewhere behind me. "Too early for metaphors."
The laughter that followed was easy, unforced. And though we all fell back into our separate tasks, there was something soft in the air. A shared warmth. A steady undercurrent of affection, teasing, rivalry—and something unspoken growing just beneath it all.
It was after everyone had gone that Lillian lingered again.
We stood at the edge of the garden, watching the breeze stir the leaves, the faint scent of lavender and fresh soil clinging to the air.
"You've been smiling more lately," she said, voice gentle.
I glanced at her, caught off guard. "Have I?"
She nodded slowly. "It suits you."
I didn't know what to say to that, but my heart swelled in my chest. Maybe I didn't have to say anything. Because Lillian stepped closer, brushing her hand lightly against mine. She didn't take it—but she let the touch linger. A silent promise.
I didn't expect her to stay.
Lillian, that is.
But even as the wind gently picked up, rustling the petals around us and stirring the faint scent of honeysuckle and lavender through the air, she didn't move. Her hand remained by mine—barely touching, but unmistakably there. The weight of it was delicate, like a whisper between our palms, but the presence? The presence was enough to flood through me like light.
"Lillian..." I started, unsure of what I was even trying to say.
She turned her head just enough for our eyes to meet. Her green gaze was soft, but not fragile. There was steel beneath that softness—a kind of unwavering resolve that had nothing to do with magic or status and everything to do with me.
"I know," she murmured.
I blinked. "Know what?"
"That you're scared." Her smile was faint, like moonlight filtered through glass. "Of all of this. Of what it means… to be cared for."
The air caught in my throat, and I looked away, but she didn't let the silence fester.
"You always get that look in your eyes when someone gets too close. Like you're waiting for the floor to collapse."
"It usually does," I said, quieter than I meant to.
Lillian was quiet for a beat, then stepped even closer. I felt her warmth at my side, heard the rustle of her skirt as it brushed mine. Her fingers lightly slipped between mine, threading gently, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to.
I didn't.
"And yet," she whispered, "here you are. Still letting yourself bloom."
The word struck me like lightning.
Bloom.
In a garden full of life, full of colors, full of competing emotions—I hadn't noticed. But she had. Of course she had.
A soft breath escaped me, and I felt my shoulders relax, my grip tightening slightly around hers. "You're dangerously good at saying the right thing."
Her laugh was soft, almost like a lullaby. "You say that as if it's not completely intentional."
"Of course it is," I muttered, shaking my head, but unable to hide the smile tugging at my lips. "You're a menace."
"And yet," she said, mimicking my earlier words with a gentle smile, "here you are."
We stood there, fingers entwined, for a long time. The sun dipped just slightly past the highest point in the sky, casting golden light through the branches and making the whole garden glow.
From the corner of my eye, I saw movement—Camille, lingering at the far end of the garden path, her icy-blue eyes flicking between us with something unreadable in them. She didn't interrupt, though. She simply watched for a moment, then turned away with a thoughtful expression and vanished down the corridor.
Jealousy? Maybe. Or maybe something else. The way Camille handled emotions was a mystery even I hadn't unraveled yet.
I squeezed Lillian's hand gently, and she glanced back at me.
"What?" she asked softly.
"Nothing," I replied. "Just… thank you."
"For what?"
"For not leaving."
Her smile returned, brighter this time. "I'm not going anywhere, Sera."
And for once, I believed it.
Later, after we parted ways and I returned to my dorm, I sat at my desk and picked up my pen.
I stared at the blank page for a long time.
Then, without really planning to, I wrote:
Sometimes, the people who reach for you the gentlest… hold you the strongest.
I read it twice, then let the ink dry, my fingers lingering at the edge of the paper.
For the first time in a long while, I didn't feel like I was writing someone else's story.
This time, it was mine.
The next morning carried the scent of rain.
It hadn't started yet, but I could feel it in the air—the way the breeze whispered low through the corridors, brushing along the windowpanes as if warning us gently. The sky above the academy was overcast, a soft gray veil stretching across the horizon.
I sat by the windowsill of my room, chin resting in my hand, watching students pass through the courtyard below. Lillian's voice still echoed softly in my head—"I'm not going anywhere, Sera."
It was the kind of promise that lingered, long after the words had been spoken.
There was a knock on the door, one I recognized immediately. Three light taps, perfectly measured.
I opened the door to find Camille, a light shawl over her shoulders and her hair slightly damp, like she'd walked through the mist just to get here.
"Rain's coming," she said.
"I noticed."
She tilted her head, studying me for a moment with those calm, ice-blue eyes of hers. "You look thoughtful."
"I think I always do."
"No," she said, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. "Sometimes you look stubborn. Other times, scared. But right now? You look like someone who's finally starting to let go."
I frowned as I closed the door behind her. "Let go of what?"
She turned slowly, her fingers trailing lightly along the books on my shelf. "Of whatever walls you've built. Whatever fear that's been whispering to you since you arrived in this world. You're letting them down, one by one. And people are noticing."
I watched her quietly as she finally settled beside me by the window, our shoulders almost touching.
"I don't know if that's a good thing," I murmured.
Camille reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear with a tenderness that caught me off guard.
"It's a wonderful thing."
I froze.
"I see it, you know," she continued, her voice softening. "The way you hesitate before reaching for someone. The way your eyes flinch when someone says they care about you. You've been alone for so long that you don't know what to do with love when it's freely offered."
I swallowed hard, heart caught somewhere between her words and the way she was looking at me.
"But you're trying. And that's what makes you so—" Her voice faltered, just a little. "—so beautiful."
I looked away, my cheeks warming. "Camille…"
She smiled, leaning closer, her shoulder gently bumping mine. "You don't have to say anything. I'm not asking for answers. Just… be here with me."
So I was.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like a quiet place between breaths—between confessions and rain.
When she finally stood, Camille reached for my hand, holding it for just a second longer than necessary.
"I'll see you at the club room later. I hear Claire's planning something suspicious."
"Isn't she always?"
Camille gave me a knowing smile. "But today, it feels like she's planning something especially suspicious."
She winked before slipping out the door, her presence lingering in the soft scent of lilac and rain.
I stood there for a moment longer, touching the place where her fingers had brushed mine, heart still slightly unsteady.
Later, when I entered the Gardening Club room, Claire was already inside.
She was wearing an apron far too frilly to be practical, standing in front of a table cluttered with pots and what looked like a suspiciously large number of dessert trays.
"What's going on?" I asked cautiously.
Claire turned around, beaming. "Welcome to the Unofficial Official Sweet Flower Arrangement and Dessert Challenge!"
I stared. "That's not a real thing."
"It is now," Claire said proudly, throwing her arms out like she was unveiling a masterpiece.
Tessa was seated at the far end of the room, arms crossed, watching the chaos with barely concealed amusement. Lillian arrived not long after, followed by Diana—who raised a brow and asked, "Is this the part where we try not to poison each other with sugar?"
Claire handed me a small note card with 'Sera's Team' written in glittery purple ink.
"Pair up and try to impress the judge!" she declared.
I blinked. "Wait, who's the judge?"
Camille entered the room just then with perfect timing, smiling serenely. "Apparently, I am."
"Oh no," Diana muttered under her breath.
I looked at the group—Claire already dragging Tessa toward the supplies, Lillian humming to herself as she examined a bouquet of roses, and Camille watching all of us like we were her personal entertainment.
And for once, I let myself laugh.
Real and light and without fear.
Maybe this was what it meant to live—to be caught in the in-between moments that stitched everything together.
And maybe… just maybe… I was starting to want this more than I ever thought I could.