Over the next few days, Alina kept running into Killian all around the village. Normally, she began her mornings with a smile—watering her flowers, humming to herself, letting the sunlight warm her face. But lately, without fail, she would glance up from her garden and spot him—Killian—sitting outside his house like some brooding gargoyle. And just like that, her good mood wilted faster than overwatered mint.
She'd tried her hardest to ignore him—truly, she had—but unfortunately for her, the man was far too tall and far too noticeable. It was as if the universe had decided to place him in her line of sight at all times.
It was almost suspicious, the way he appeared wherever she went—not saying anything, not doing anything, just there. She'd glance up from a stall and catch the back of his head as he walked past. She'd open the bakery door and find him already leaving, a paper bag in hand. Never lingering. Never speaking. Just existing in her space.
And it was driving her mad.
Not because she wanted him to talk. Absolutely not. But because each time she thought she was free of him—there he'd be again, arms crossed, leaning against a wall like he owned the village, looking perfectly unbothered while she fumed in silence.
Even worse? Nana seemed delighted every time she mentioned his name. "He looks like a good, strong lad," she'd say, sipping her tea. "Quiet, but thoughtful. You should take him some of those honey scones once you're done baking them."
Alina had nearly dropped the tray. "Why would I? It's my scones."
"What's wrong with you? I feel like you don't like him so much." Nana, not missing the irritation in her voice, finally asked. "What can you possibly hate about that handsome man?"
"I don't hate him," she said quickly—maybe a little too quickly. "He just… shows up. Everywhere. Like a stray cat that keeps appearing the moment you turn your back."
Nana raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Stray cats usually grow on people, you know."
"This one stole my pastry," Alina muttered under her breath, stabbing her fork into her half-baked scones like it had wronged her.
Nana chuckled. "Still holding a grudge over one pastry? He must've made quite the impression."
"He didn't even apologize," Alina said, crossing her arms. "And now he's everywhere. "
Nana hummed thoughtfully, then leaned in with a grin that Alina absolutely didn't like. "Well, what do you expect? We literally live right across each other."
Alina opened her mouth, then closed it again, deflated.
"That's not the point," she muttered. "It's the way he's always there. Like he's lurking. Silently judging my tomato placement."
Nana burst into laughter, nearly spilling her tea. "Oh, sweetheart. If he's judging your tomatoes, it's because he doesn't know any better. Not everyone is blessed with your impeccable garden instincts."
Alina slumped into her seat, cheeks puffed out in exasperation. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"I am," Nana said cheerfully, patting her hand. "And I'm going to keep enjoying it until you admit you're curious about him."
"I'm not," Alina said at once.
Nana didn't argue. She just gave her one of those infuriating grandmother smiles—soft, knowing, impossible to counter—and went back to sipping her tea.
Alina glared at her scones, wishing it could just, for once, bake itself.
"Can you finish these for me?" She let out a sigh and pushed the tray toward Nana. "I'm going to the lake."
Nana blinked, caught off guard. "Again?" she asked, incredulous. "You know he's not going to show up."
Alina paused mid-step, her hand on the doorframe. Her back tensed slightly—but she didn't turn around. "I'm not going to wait for anyone. I just… need some air."
Nana didn't reply, and for that, Alina was quietly grateful. She wouldn't tell anyone—not Nana, not even herself out loud—but every time she went to the lake, a small part of her held onto a foolish little hope.
That maybe, just maybe, he'd be there.
The walk was familiar, the path well-worn by her steps. The scent of wild mint brushed against her legs as she passed, and the hum of bees followed her like an old song. The village faded behind her, swallowed by the hush of trees and the rustling of leaves overhead.
When she reached the edge of the lake, the water was still, glass-like, reflecting clouds that drifted lazy and unbothered above. She took a breath, deep and quiet, and sat at her usual spot—beneath the old willow that leaned slightly toward the water, like it too was waiting for someone.
The lake was one of Alina's favorite parts of the village. While it was located quite far from the square, it was still a part of the village, one that was only known to those who had lived here for a long time.
It didn't have signs or cobbled paths leading to it—just a narrow dirt trail tucked behind the elderberry grove, past a mossy wooden fence that no one bothered to mend. Tourists never found it. Outsiders passed it by. And that was just how Alina liked it.
The water was clear, sometimes catching the sky in hues of blue and silver, sometimes cloaked in the quiet gray of fog. In the summer, dragonflies skimmed its surface, and in spring, frogs sang well into the night. But more than anything, it was still. Peaceful. Untouched by the bustle of the market or the chatter of morning gossip.
It was her place.
She let her legs stretch out in the soft grass, brushing a wild daisy with her foot, and leaned back on her hands, watching the sky. And even though she told herself not to, her eyes drifted to the other side of the lake, where a young boy used to wave his hands toward her with a huge smile that left Alina breathless.
He always waved like he hadn't seen her in years. Like he'd been waiting for her all along.
She'd never understood how someone could smile like that—with such open joy, such unguarded light. It had made her feel special.
The time they spent together was filled with happiness like no others, like the world belonged to just the two of them.
They never needed grand adventures—just the comfort of each other's presence beneath the wide blue sky. They made daisy chains and wore them like crowns, skipping stones across the lake and pretending the ripples were magic spells.
Sometimes, they spoke in hushed voices, sharing secrets that felt too big for the world but safe in that hidden corner of it. Other times, they simply sat in silence, letting the wind do all the talking.
She remembered how he would point at clouds and invent the silliest stories—how a dragon was hiding in that one, or how that puffy shape over the hill looked like a flying teacup. Alina would laugh until her sides hurt, sometimes forgetting what had been bothering her that day in the village.
He always brought something with him, like a treasure to share—a shiny pebble he found on the road, a half-eaten pastry he'd saved just for her, a feather he claimed was from a magical bird. In fact, Alina's love for flowers had started from the daisies he used to bring her—tiny, imperfect things he'd clumsily pluck from the grass and hold out like precious jewels.
And to her, they were. She would tuck them behind her ear, weave them into her braids, or press them between the pages of her sketchbook when he wasn't looking.
Time seemed to stretch around them like a soft cocoon. There were no clocks by the lake, no chores, no expectations—just sunshine, laughter, and the secret thrill of having something that was theirs alone. A quiet, golden slice of forever.
She hadn't known what to call it back then—this soft, fluttering thing that swirled in her chest every time he smiled at her. All she knew was that, in his presence, he had woven himself into the fabric of her days, like the sunlight dancing on the water or the hum of bees around the flowers—constant, comforting, always there.
Maybe that's why it hurt so much when he disappeared—not just from the lake, but from her life entirely.
"Can you wait for me?" he had asked before leaving, his voice as light and hopeful as a promise. But he never said how long she would have to wait. He never told her when or if he'd return.
Alina had waited for weeks at first, then months. Every visit to the lake had been filled with hope that gradually frayed at the edges. Until eventually, hope had been replaced by a quiet ache she tucked away in the corner of her heart—next to all the questions she never got to ask.
She told herself she'd moved on. That it had just been a childhood thing—something fleeting, like dandelion seeds caught on the wind. But the truth was, that boy had become a piece of the lake itself. Of her.
And even now, all these years later, her eyes still drifted to the other side, silently waiting to see that brilliant smile just once more.
She told herself that she came to the lake because she loved it—that the water, the wildflowers, the gentle breeze were all enough to draw her back. But deep down, she knew the truth. She came here because she wanted to hold onto the echoes of what they'd shared.
"I should go back," Alina said to herself, standing up from her usual spot.
But she lingered for a moment longer, eyes tracing the ripple of the lake as if it might whisper something back.
Just one more glance.
One more breath of that old, familiar stillness.