Days slipped into weeks. The summer heat softened, and the breeze grew cooler. Slowly, the sunflower fields changed—petals paling, stalks bending low.
Elara painted them still, each canvas filled with their tired beauty. But every stroke of wilted yellow felt like a warning.
She counted the days. She clutched Kai's letter until the ink smudged against her fingers. She whispered his promise into the wind.
But Kai did not return.
One evening, as the last light fell across the fading fields, Elara stood alone on the balcony. She held her brush but could not paint. The sky burned crimson, the kind of color that felt both beautiful and cruel.
Her grandmother joined her quietly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Child," she murmured, "sometimes even promises with the purest hearts cannot withstand the weight of time."
Elara's eyes filled with tears. She shook her head. "He said he'd come back."
The last sunflower swayed in the evening wind, its petals trembling, its golden head bowing low—as though it, too, were saying goodbye.