Julyah's POV
Julyah had never intended to be a farmer when the world came to an end. She wasn't exactly rolling up her sleeves and getting her hands dirty in a heroic sort of way either. Mud-splattered boots and soot-crusted fingernails were…less than glamorous. Not the image people wanted to imagine when they thought about survival. But when the world collapsed, it turned out that food was worth more than guns.
The morning air was cold and wet. She exhaled and watched her breath billow in pale clouds before her face. A crowd of former tech CEO, analyst and politician squinted and stared at garden beds like they were some sort of alien puzzle.
"Try to imagine the soil as your friend," Julyah said patiently, squatting next to a patch of dirt.
"I don't have friends who smell like manure," Mira grumbled, poking at a sprout with a stick.
Julyah smiled, not looking up from the ground. "Then you've never had to truly survive."
They had been at this for the last two days, working from sunup to sundown. There had been no time to rest, not really. Ration planning, greenhouse frame, testing the ground for moisture and sneaking extra gear from her tattoo when no one was looking…Julyah had barely kept track of the hours passing. There had been a dozen layers to every problem. The apocalypse wasn't chaos. It was math. Patience. Hunger solved one shovel at a time.
She dropped to a knee beside a garden bed and scraped a firm stick through the earth, making neat rows in the dirt. Beside her, Adrian followed, dropping seeds into each groove as though they were precious instead of little shells of life.
"You're taking this surprisingly seriously," she said, brushing her hair from her eyes.
He looked at her. The sun had caught his face just right and there was a soft luminescence in his eyes that was usually so sharp.
"You said this could save lives," he answered. "So I'm listening."
His voice was low and honest. She stared at him a second too long. Then nodded.
A shadow passed over them. Ellis walked by, dragging a crooked carrot in one hand and wiping sweat from his brow with the other.
"Hey, Julyah!" he called out, grinning. "Want me to name this one after you? It's stubborn, pointy, and strangely magical."
Julyah raised an eyebrow and tried not to laugh. "If you do, I'm feeding it to the dog."
"I thought we were the dogs now," he joked, winking as he ambled off to the compost pile.
Beside her, Adrian stabbed his trowel into the ground with a little more force than necessary.
She tilted her head. "Did that carrot offend you?"
"I don't like distractions," he muttered.
"Is that what flirting is to you?"
He didn't answer.
"You're not jealous, are you?" she asked, half-teasing, half-curious.
He froze. Then turned his face slightly away.
She smiled. He hadn't said yes. But silence, in this case, said more than words.
Later, when the sun dipped low and painted the sky in orange and gold, she handed Adrian a blade.
"Your turn to teach."
He looked at the weapon in his hand and raised an eyebrow.
"What makes you think I know how to use this?" "You carry two knives even when we're just making soup," she said. "And you sleep like someone's always about to break in."
He shrugged, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
They walked to a flat patch of ground just beyond the garden. The soil here was firm and dry, not yet prepared for planting. The air had a cold edge to it, like a reminder that winter had not yet left.
Adrian showed her how to stand, how to hold the blade with her thumb angled just so and how to shift her weight before each strike. He didn't speak much. But every instruction he gave was clear.
"You're not bad," he said after a few tries. "But you hesitate too much."
"Better to hesitate than rush and make a mistake," she said.
"Not if the other person doesn't hesitate."
He moved behind her then, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. Not too close. Just enough.
"Here," he said, adjusting her elbow gently. "This grip is wrong. If you hold it like this, you lose control when swinging."
His fingers were warm. Steady. He moved her hand, then rested it just above her wrist.
Her heart beat faster, but not from nerves. This wasn't flirting. He wasn't playing a game. His touch was careful, focused. He treated her like someone capable, someone he trusted to learn.
"Don't wait for the right moment," he murmured. "Sometimes there isn't one. Sometimes you move before they do, or you don't move at all."
She tried again. Then again. Her shoulders ached. Her fingers trembled slightly from holding the knife too tight.
At one point his hand slid down her arm to correct her wrist. His palm brushed the edge of her tattoo.
And then he froze.
"What just happened?" he asked softly.
She looked down. Her flower tattoo had pulsed faintly beneath his hand.
She didn't answer.
But Adrian's eyes didn't move from where his fingers rested. He stared at her skin like it held an answer he didn't know how to ask. He didn't pull away, not at first. When he finally did, his expression was unreadable.
He had felt it.
She didn't know what to say.
The sky darkened above them, stars beginning to twinkle into existence one by one. The wind picked up, rustling dry leaves that hadn't yet been cleared from the edge of the woods.
Adrian stepped back, handing her the blade again.
"You're learning fast," he said, his voice softer now.
"I have to," she replied. "There won't always be someone to guide my hand."
He gave a short nod. Then, after a pause: "But for now, you're not alone."
She looked at him.
And smiled.
For the first time in days, something in her chest felt light.
Something warm had started to grow between them, like a seed planted in hard earth. It hadn't bloomed yet. Not fully. But it was there.
And it wasn't just survival anymore.
It was something more.
Something worth fighting for.
Her Journal Entry — Unwritten but Forming:
The weather is shifting. The nights are colder now, not unlike the brutal heat before the collapse. I can feel the snow coming, creeping in like a breath held too long. I don't know when the storm begins, but I know I need to be ready. And for the first time… I might not be the only one preparing.