The bell marking the end of classes echoed through the academy halls, ringing like an invitation to freedom. Arven gathered his books, ready to return to the dormitory, when a firm and elegant voice called out.
"Arven."
He turned and saw Elara approaching, her slightly wavy red hair swaying with each step.
"I need you to come with me."
He blinked, puzzled.
"Come with you? Where to?"
"To buy a suit," she replied naturally. "The welcome ball is this weekend, and..." — she looked away for a moment — "I simply can't allow you to show up wearing something... ordinary."
Arven raised an eyebrow.
"So that's it... you think I'm some penniless commoner with nothing decent to wear."
Elara crossed her arms.
"I just think you could use some help," she said, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Besides, it's not like you have the means for anything refined."
He sighed, a small grin forming.
"Alright, princess. Let's buy the suit."
The streets of Eldara were alive with the hum of the afternoon. Carriages rolled by, and the clang of blacksmiths echoed in the distance. They entered the first textile shop — a place filled with vibrant fabrics hanging from the walls, and a clerk who seemed to size Arven up with thinly veiled disdain.
"Something modest for the young man, I assume?" the clerk asked, glancing between them.
"Actually, something worthy of a royal ball," Elara replied coolly without blinking.
The clerk quickly brought out his finest suits. Arven tried on one after another — black, blue, gray — while Elara watched closely.
"Not that one. The sleeves are too long."
"That one... doesn't match your hair."
"And this one?" Arven asked, already tired.
Elara looked at him for a moment, and something in her expression softened. The dark suit, trimmed with silver details, fit him perfectly.
"This one is... perfect," she murmured, looking away. "You hardly look like yourself."
"Thanks, I guess," he said with a small laugh. "So now I look less 'commoner'?"
"Not quite. But... presentable," she said, trying to hide a smile.
After the purchase, Elara insisted they go to a nearby restaurant. It was an elegant place, with candles on the tables and soft music playing in the background. Arven hesitated before entering.
"Elara, you don't have to do this. You've already spent enough on the suit."
"I insist," she replied, already calling the waiter. "Consider it a thank-you... for putting up with me."
He sat down, still uncomfortable. When the food arrived — elegant dishes with names he could barely pronounce — Arven sighed and looked at her.
"You seem different today."
Elara rested her chin on her hand.
"Different how?"
"Less... distant."
She was silent for a while, her gaze soft in the candlelight.
"Maybe because I'm tired of pretending."
Arven tilted his head.
"Pretending what?"
"That everything's fine." She smiled without joy. "My engagement with Lucien might be annulled. My father's not pleased with the distance between us. And... maybe that's a relief."
Arven looked at her, surprised.
"You mean... you don't love him?"
Elara took a deep breath, staring into her wine glass.
"I thought I did. I thought that feeling... was the so-called 'love' everyone talks about. But now... I'm not sure anymore."
She lifted her eyes, meeting his with a rare vulnerability.
"How does someone even know when it's true love?"
Arven opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just stayed there, caught in her gaze, a knot tightening in his chest.
"I... don't know either," he finally said, lowering his eyes. "Maybe it's something you only understand once you've already lost it."
Elara stayed silent, thoughtful. The waiter brought the bill, and she paid quietly.
"I owe you one," Arven said as they left.
"Consider it paid with your company," she replied with a faint smile.
The moon was already rising above the city when they returned to the academy. The silence between them felt oddly comfortable, almost intimate. At the gates, Elara stopped.
"Thank you for today."
"I should be the one thanking you," Arven said, adjusting the collar of the suit bag. "It was... a good day."
"It was," she said softly, turning away. "Good night, Arven."
"Good night, Elara."
She walked toward the girls' dormitory, the sound of her steps fading into the quiet night. Arven stayed for a moment, gazing at the stars, feeling a strange tightness in his chest he couldn't quite name.
— What is this feeling, anyway? — he wondered.
— Maybe neither of us... really knows yet. —
And then he walked away, his mind full of questions and his heart quietly restless.
-----+++++++------
ELARA POV:
In her dorm room, Elara slipped off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed. The silence felt heavier than usual. She loosened her hair, letting the red waves fall over her shoulders, and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
For a moment, she simply stared at herself — her calm face, her uncertain eyes.
— Why does he look at me that way? — she thought, running her fingers through her hair. — And why... does it bother me so much? —
She sighed and lay down, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The memories of the day came back in fragments: Arven's gaze, his laugh, the quiet moment they shared at the restaurant.
— Love... — she murmured softly. — If this isn't love... then what is it? —
She closed her eyes, trying to calm the swirl of emotions she couldn't name. Outside, the wind stirred the curtains, and for the first time in a long while, Elara didn't know whether she wanted the ball to come soon... or never at all.