The park was our whole world once.
Back then, the grass felt endless, the sky never seemed to end, and the night air carried the kind of magic only children believed in. Aria was always the first to run into it, chasing laughter the way other kids chased candy. Kael followed after, pretending not to care, but his grin always betrayed him. And me, I was the one in between, watching, keeping us together, as if the three of us were tied by an invisible thread.
That summer night, the fireflies arrived early. Their tiny lights flickered in the dusk, drifting through the air like fallen stars.
"Catch one!" Aria squealed, darting across the grass with her hands cupped. "Elias, help me!"
"You cannot catch light," Kael muttered, though he still lunged clumsily after them, his laughter spilling out despite his best efforts to act serious.
I did not chase them. I watched instead: Aria's joy, Kael's reluctant smile, the way we fit together so naturally. That was enough for me.
Eventually, we collapsed on the grass, sweaty and out of breath, staring up at the first stars of the evening. Aria rolled over suddenly, her eyes wide and bright.
"Let us make a promise," she said. "That we will always be together. No matter what. Even when we are old and boring."
Kael groaned, but he did not mean it. He linked his pinkie with hers anyway.
"You too, Elias," Aria demanded, thrusting her hand toward me.
I did not hesitate. "Always," I said, looping my pinkie with theirs.
Three hands, one promise. Underneath the fireflies, we swore to never let go.
But as much as I wanted to believe that moment would last forever, I was not blind.
Seren sat quietly on the swings that night, a book resting on her lap, her face half-hidden behind her hair. She always stayed at the edge of things, close enough to watch, far enough not to be noticed.
Except I noticed.
When Aria called my name again, I slipped away for a moment and walked to the swings. Seren's eyes widened when I sat beside her.
"Why are you always over here alone?" I asked.
She shrugged, her voice small. "I like watching."
"You could play too," I said gently. "We do not mind."
Her lips curved in a timid smile. "Aria runs too fast. And Kael does not like me."
"That is not true," I said. "He just acts like that. And Aria would love you to join."
Seren looked down at her shoes, then whispered, "Maybe next time."
I did not push. Instead, I nudged the swing until we rocked side by side. "That is okay. I will make sure there is a next time."
She glanced at me, and for a moment, her smile reached her eyes.
When I finally ran back to Aria and Kael, I carried that moment with me, though I did not yet understand why.
We were children then, too young to know how fragile promises could be. Too young to realise that one day, everything we thought was unbreakable would begin to fall apart.
That night stretched on, the air warm and heavy with the hum of crickets. Aria sprawled out on the grass again, tracing constellations with her finger, naming them after silly things that made no sense: "That one is the Candy Dragon, and that one is the Sleeping Cat." Kael rolled his eyes but still followed her finger, quietly correcting her under his breath, as if she needed someone to keep her grounded.
I sat between them, half-listening, half-watching Seren on the swing set. She had gone back to reading her book, but every so often, her gaze drifted toward us. The fireflies danced around her, making her look like she belonged to some softer world.
"Elias," Aria said suddenly, rolling onto her side. "What do you think we will be like when we are older?"
"Older how?" I asked.
"Like, really old. Ten years older. Twenty. Do you think we will still come here?"
Kael smirked. "Aria, you will probably drag us here even when we are eighty."
"I will," she said proudly. Then she looked at me again. "But you promise you will come too, right?"
Her voice was light, but her eyes were serious.
"Of course," I said.
She seemed satisfied, closing her eyes with a smile, her hand brushing against mine in the grass.
Kael sat up straighter, watching us both. There was no jealousy in his eyes back then, only something quieter, harder to name. Maybe he already feared how things could change. Maybe he understood more than I did.
Later, when the night grew late, I walked Seren home. She lived only a few streets away, and her steps were soft against the gravel road. She hugged her book to her chest like a shield.
"You are lucky," she said quietly, her voice almost lost to the chirping of crickets.
"Lucky how?" I asked.
"To have them. Aria and Kael. You all fit together."
I thought about it, then shook my head. "We are lucky to have each other. That includes you too, you know."
Her eyes widened, as though no one had ever said that to her. She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if the words she wanted to give back were too heavy.
When we reached her gate, she stopped. "Elias… thank you."
It was such a small thing, but the way she said it stayed with me, even after I returned to the park where Aria and Kael had already fallen asleep on the grass. I lay down beside them, staring up at the endless stars, and for the first time, I wondered how long "always" really lasted.
Because deep down, even then, I felt it.
The fireflies would fade. The summer would end. And one day, the promise we made beneath that sky would be tested.