An hour before Alder was called
Willow sat slouched in her seat, her slender fingers loosely holding her pencil. The lecturer was out on sick leave today — a small mercy — but peace still eluded her. Her head rested against the cold surface of the table. The sketchbook beneath her was open to a half-finished drawing of a heel.
But no matter how many strokes she added, it didn't look right. Just like her entire morning.
Her stomach still churned from the blow she'd taken before leaving home.
Her father.
He didn't need a reason to hit her. Just seeing her face was enough.
She exhaled, the breath shaky, her lashes fluttering shut. Maybe if she just drifted off for a little while…
A voice pulled her from the edge of sleep.
"Willow, can I see your designs?" Sage asked, her tone hopeful.
"No," Willow replied flatly, not lifting her head.
"I just want to see what you've been drawing," Sage continued, her voice soft. She liked Willow—admired her, even. Being in the same class wasn't enough. She wanted to be friends. But Willow never gave her a chance.
"No," Willow said again, sharper this time.
"Come on, Willow," Sage pleaded.
Willow gave no reply, her body still, her eyes closing once more.
Shoulders drooping, Sage returned to her seat with a small sigh, dejected. But her curiosity burned on.
Minutes later, Willow rose, a quiet storm of grace as she walked to the restroom. The door barely clicked shut when Sage's eyes darted back to Willow's table.
Her pulse quickened. Carefully, she approached Willow's seat, her breath uneven. The designs called to her. Slowly, she lifted the sketchbook.
"She's really talented," Sage thought, awestruck, as her eyes devoured the elegant lines. But fate had other plans.
Her half-empty water bottle hung precariously in her grip — the cap forgotten. As she leaned in for a better look, a soft trickle turned into a small flood. Water seeped into the paper, smudging ink, warping pages.
"Oh no… no, no, no," Sage whispered, panicked. Desperately, she dabbed at the sketchbook with trembling hands, but the soaked pages tore under her frantic movements.
That was when Willow returned.
Her gaze landed instantly on the ruined pages. Her heart sank, rage clawing up her throat.
"Miss Smith," Willow's voice rang out, cold and dangerous. "How dare you."
"I didn't mean it, I'm sor—" Sage stammered.
Before the apology could leave her lips, Willow's palm cracked against her cheek.
"I can't be bullied at home and at school," Willow thought bitterly, her body trembling.
Sage gasped, shock giving way to anger. She swung her arm to retaliate, but Willow caught it mid-air, her grip iron-clad.
The fight erupted. But could it even be called a fight? Willow, driven by bottled rage and helplessness, unleashed her fury.
Students gathered, murmurs filling the air. Not a single one stepped in. They only watched.
It took the principal himself to intervene.
---
The principal office
Alder waited in the principal's office, one leg crossed, his gaze distant. Then the door opened.
Sage entered, her face bruised, a small figure trailing behind her. His pulse quickened.
"It's her," Alder thought, breath catching. The girl that's been haunting his dreams.
"My dream girl."
"Alder!" Sage called, her voice small, desperate, like a child seeking comfort.
Alder looked up, dark eyes flickering between them. The girl — Willow — looked unbowed despite her bruises and tangled hair. Sage, by contrast, looked like a porcelain doll cracked and fragile.
"Miss Larkspur, your parents are not here yet," the principal said.
"Nobody will come for me," Willow replied, her voice low but unwavering. "Just give me my punishment."
"She's stubborn," Alder thought, his mind noting every quirk of her behavior like a collector of rare treasures.
His voice turned stern. "Sage, why did you get into a fight?" Even though he was only three years older, Sage feared him more than Leif — yet loved him more too.
"I didn't get into a fight. It's obvious I was beaten up," Sage mumbled.
Alder sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. Embarrassing.
"What happened?" he redirected.
"Believe me, I just wanted to see her design," Sage said, her voice quivering.
"That's not the way to ask for something, Miss Smith," Willow responded, her gaze sharp.
"How should I have asked?" Sage shouted, her voice cracking with frustration and pain.
"I told you I didn't want you to see it. You should have accepted that and let me be. But you took my design behind my back… and even tore it," Willow replied, her voice cold and even.
"That was a mistake. I didn't tear it on purpose," Sage said, almost in tears.
"Sage," Alder called softly.
"Believe me, it wasn't on purpose! I begged her, but she slapped me and beat me up," Sage added quickly, cheeks flushing with humiliation.
"She should be embarrassed to say she was beaten," Alder thought, glancing at his beloved sister with a flicker of pity.
"She clearly told you not to touch her stuff. You didn't only touch it, but you tore it. So you're wrong," Alder said, then turned to Willow. "Miss, you're also wrong for hitting her. You both should settle this by apologizing."
Silence stretched.
"Sage," Alder prompted again.
"I'm so sorry, Willow. I shouldn't have touched your things," Sage said, stiffly polite.
"Willow."
So that's her name Alder though with a smile playing on his lip.
"I'm sorry, Miss Smith. I shouldn't have hit you," Willow replied, her face unreadable.
"Since it's all settled, no need for punishment," the principal said, though he knows he wouldn't dare punish a Smith.
"Miss Larkspur, since this is your first time, your scholarship won't be affected."
"Thank you, sir," Willow said, and left the office, her back straight, eyes never meeting theirs.
---
In Alder's car
The engine purred softly beneath them. Alder liked driving his own car.
"Alder, let me explain," Sage said the moment she settled in, nerves tight in her chest. It wasn't Alder she feared in this case — it was their mother, Juniper.
"What do you think of her?" Alder asked, ignoring her words.
"Who?" Sage blinked.
"Willow," Alder said, savoring the name like fine wine.
"That bitch—"
"Hey. No cussing," Alder cut in, brows raised. Sage pouted.
"I just wanted to be close to her. But she's too arrogant. A smoker. She barely talks. Sometimes it's like she has a word limit per day. The only good thing about her is that she's very talented in design — nothing else. A poor, arrogant young lady. If not for her scholarship, we'd never be in the same school," Sage huffed, anger rising.
Alder smiled softly, knowing it came from hurt, not hatred.
"Why are you smiling?" Sage asked.
"Try your best to get close to her," Alder said simply.
"Didn't you hear what I said?" Sage exclaimed, pointing at her bruised face. "All this happened because I wanted to get close to her!"
"You did it the wrong way," Alder replied calmly.
"How else am I supposed to do it? No one talks to her. Just me. Why? Because I like her and I want to genuinely be her friend—"
"Are you interested in ladies?" Alder teased, cutting her off.
Sage sighed. "I don't like her that way. I just want to be friends," she stressed.
"Good. Be nicer to her. Tomorrow, apologize again," Alder said, voice turning serious.
"Apologize?" Sage stared at him like he'd grown a horn. "I did nothing wrong!"
"You tore her sketchbook. So you should apologize. And try to know her likes and dislikes," Alder said.
"Why should I do that?"
"That's your future sister-in-law," Alder said with a smile that dazzled.
"Pedophile," Sage shot back, cheeks heating.
"How? Isn't she your age mate?"
"Yes, she is," Sage grumbled, folding her arms.
"Aren't you of age yet?" Alder asked.
"No, we're not. She's younger," Sage lied.
"Sage," Alder warned.
"Even if she's 19, she's too young for a relationship."
"Oh, you're 19? Then tell me how that's pedophile."
"So?" Sage pouted. "You better not try anything with my friend!"
"She isn't even your friend," Alder teased.
"You just met her?" Sage asked, narrowing her eyes.
Alder started the car again, a small smirk playing on his lips. "No, I met her like twice before."
"That's why you didn't defend me in there, right?" Sage asked, voice accusing.
"I did," Alder replied calmly.
"You didn't," Sage argued, and their playful bickering filled the car all the way home.
Alder? The voice pulled Alder out of this thought
---
Present Time
"Alder?!" Willow called, her voice soft, laced with panic. She had woken alone, the bed cold beside her. Fear twisted in her stomach as she rushed into the sitting room, eyes searching.
"I'm here," Alder's warm voice answered from the kitchen.
She exhaled with relief, her body sagging as she followed the sound. He stood at the stove, wearing an apron, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. The sight made her heart flutter.
Without hesitation, she ran to him, wrapping her arms around him from the side in a half-hug, burying her face against his shoulder.
"What's wrong?" Alder asked gently, flipping a pancake with one hand while pulling her close with the other.
"I thought you left," she whispered, her voice muffled against him.
His arms tightened around her, hand resting on her shoulder. "I'm not like you, who leaves without saying goodbye," he teased softly.
She pulled back, eyes shimmering. "What are you making?" she asked, pretending to ignore the teasing.
"Are you blind?" Alder teased again, a playful glint in his eye.
"Can you be a little romantic?" Willow asked with a small smile, not really upset. He was always like this — sometimes too sweet, sometimes annoyingly teasing — but he was Alder, the man she loved.
Alder plated the pancakes, took off the apron, and prepared the table with a casual grace. Then, with a small frown of curiosity, he picked up a small white plastic bottle and held it up.
"What's this bottle really for? And why is there no name on it?" he asked, suspicion flickering in his eyes. For someone who rarely touched medication, this felt odd.
Willow's heart skipped. "It's just for my diet," she lied smoothly. "I want to burn some fat."
Alder gave her a look that said really? before replying, "What fat are you burning exactly? Or are you trying to break your bones?" He teased again, earning an annoyed glare from Willow.
He chuckled, then something flashed in his memory. "I thought you said it was to beautify your face."
"It's all the same," Willow replied quickly, trying not to give herself away.
"Okay," Alder said, clearly unconvinced, but he let it go.
They ate in silence for a while, the atmosphere growing heavier until Alder finally broke it.
"Willow, can we go back to the way we were before?" he asked, voice lower, more serious now. His eyes held a rare vulnerability. "I don't think I can live without you by my side anymore. Actually, I don't want to live without you. Let's forget about the past and continue our lives afresh. Willow... let me love you."
The words hung in the air. Willow stared down at her food, hands trembling slightly. Silence stretched between them.
"Willow," Alder called softly, her name a plea.
She looked up, her gaze unreadable. Then she spoke.
"Alder, can we not promise anything? Let's just be together... you and me, without thinking about the past or the future."
Alder's heart ached. "You don't want to build a future with me?" he asked quietly. "Will... don't you want to marry me?"
Willow looked at him, eyes shining with unspoken words. She did want to — more than anything. She wished she could bear his children, and wished for a life by his side. But time was not on her side.
Her silence spoke volumes.
Alder stood abruptly, slipping on his coat with a deep sigh. He headed for the door.
Panic seized Willow's chest. Her heart thudded wildly.
"Please don't go!" she cried out, running after him. She flung her arms around him from behind, clinging to him desperately.
"Please... don't go," she repeated, voice cracking with emotion, but still couldn't