The southern garden of the Emperor's palace was like a piece of paradise woven with threads of fantasy—one untrodden by any foot except those destined to live inside tales. The ancient trees stood aligned like silent sentinels on either side of the paths, their upper branches interlocking in a quiet embrace, adorned with crystal lanterns that hung like stars from a low sky. Each lantern pulsed with a warm, golden light, breaking across the dewdrops clinging to the petals of royal flowers, making them glisten like jewels crafted solely for this night.
Beneath this glow, among the polished white pebbles, Arwa walked beside Kyle.
Their silence wasn't idle—it was heavy with the unspoken. His arm wrapped gently around her waist, not forcefully, but with a softness that felt like quiet possession, as though this closeness wasn't physical but an unvoiced confession. As for her, her steps were hesitant. She walked as if afraid to get closer… or to drift further away. Her eyes stared ahead, but her heart—every particle of her body—was acutely aware of his nearness. The warmth radiating from his skin, seeping through their clothes, settling on her own, was enough to unsettle her breath.
It was Kyle who broke the silence.
With his usual cold voice, yet laced this time with something else… something closer to tenderness, or perhaps the kind of curiosity that wounds.
He said,
"I never thought I'd see you speaking to Reftian… that calmly."
She turned to him, her eyes trembling as if the question caught her off guard. Her lips parted to respond, but the words didn't come easily.
"Nor did I…" she murmured, as if admitting a small secret. "But he wasn't attacking me. He just… was..."
Kyle finished for her, his voice firmer now:
"He expressed his feelings by touching your face?"
She didn't answer immediately. She looked down, at the white pebbles beneath her feet, as if searching for an answer among the silent details. Then she said, in a whisper:
"Don't misunderstand me, Kyle… I rejected him. Clearly. I told him I was with you."
Kyle stopped walking. He turned to face her completely. His features were calm, still, but not expressionless. They were… disappointed, in a way only those who know how to read the restrained can see.
He said, his eyes staring directly into hers:
"Do you want to spend your life with me, Arwa? Or are you just… holding on because you're scared?"
The question hit her like a stray arrow. She froze, her eyes widened. The words were simple… but their impact on her was deep and painful.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice nearly hoarse.
"I mean…" he said, then exhaled slowly, as if shedding a long-worn armor, "that I don't feel romantic emotions for you… I don't even know what love is. But I… hate it when I see you with someone else. I hate the idea that anyone but me could touch your hands, or speak to you with closeness."
Arwa didn't speak. She felt as if the world had paused for a moment. The trees ceased breathing, the dew stopped falling, even the light seemed to take a step back.
At last, she said, her voice low but filled with hesitation:
"I don't know what I feel either… I just… admire you, Kyle. I admire you as you are."
She lifted her eyes to him, as though trying to draw him out of the still image he always hid behind.
"You were my favorite character in my novel," she said with a soft laugh, "and now I'm walking beside you."
Then, in a whisper like a deeper confession, she added:
"Sometimes, we don't need to fully understand what we feel to believe in it… do we?"
Kyle looked at her for a long moment. He didn't say anything, but he slowly raised his hand, placing it behind her neck with an unusual gentleness. He pulled her a step closer, then whispered:
"You're strange… you know that?"
"And you're contradictory," she replied with a faint smile, despite the tears that began to glisten in her eyes.
They began walking again, but this time their steps were softer, as if their earlier conversation had lifted something heavy off their chests.
The garden around them pulsed with life. Tiny nocturnal butterflies circled the lanterns, and the wind played melodies on the leaves of the trees. In a nearby corner, a small fountain stood at the center of a circular marble plaza, its water flowing in silvery threads that shimmered beneath the moonlight.
They approached it and sat on one of the ornately carved benches surrounding the fountain.
Kyle looked at the water's surface and suddenly said:
"Reftian… he looks a lot like me, doesn't he?"
"In appearance only," Arwa responded calmly. "But he's not you. He smiles a lot. You rarely do."
"Maybe I don't..."
She turned to him, her face touched with surprise.
"Are you saying I deserve someone warmer?"
"I chose you, yes. But I… don't know how to be 'warm.' I'm not the man people dream of."
"I don't dream of you because you're perfect… but because you're real," she said with confidence, then added in a teasing tone:
"And charmingly gloomy."
Kyle laughed for the first time. A short laugh, but a sincere one.
A few moments passed in silence. But this time, it wasn't heavy. It was the comfort that comes after a storm.
He asked her, his voice gentler than before:
"Are you afraid of staying with me, despite all this?"
She shook her head.
"No. I'm only afraid that you might leave me halfway."
"I won't. And if I ever do… it'll be after I've taught you how to be strong enough that no one can ever hurt you again."
She smiled, then leaned her head on his shoulder.
She said:
"I won't lie… I'm not a brave heroine yet."
"And I'm not a whole man yet," he whispered.
But the garden, the light, the dew, and the lanterns were witnesses to a tale that had just begun to take shape… in slow steps, but honest ones.