Chapter 6: Deep Feelings

The next morning begins beneath the dappled shade of Ben's Tree, a towering sentinel at the edge of Maple Lake. The sun shimmered softly on the water's surface, casting gentle ripples of light through the surrounding woods. It was early morning, and the Maple Lake District was still and serene, just as Kevin hoped it would be.

Leaning against the wide, weathered trunk of the tree, Kevin crossed his arms and exhaled a long, steady breath. The sounds of town were distant here—only the rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird filled the air. It was the perfect spot for a private conversation.

A few minutes later, footsteps crunched against the path, and Luna jogged into view. She slowed as she neared the lake, her cheeks lightly flushed from the run. She was still catching her breath as she approached, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.

"There you are," she said between breaths. "Why didn't we just meet at the tailor shop? Would've been easier."

Kevin smiled softly. "Because Maple Lake's quiet," he replied, gesturing to the peaceful water behind him. "Hardly anyone comes by this early. Figured you'd want privacy... since we're talking about your feelings and all."

Luna blinked, slightly taken aback. She looked around at the calm lake, the breeze rustling through the tall grasses, and the quiet stillness that surrounded them. For a moment, she said nothing; just nodded and sat down on one of the smooth rocks near the tree.

"Okay," she muttered. "You were right. This is better."

Kevin settled beside her, careful to leave a polite span of space between them. The morning light spilled across the lake in trembling ribbons, and Luna, with her knees drawn up, looked as though she were trying to blend into the scenery rather than be part of a conversation.

"So," Kevin murmured, soft enough not to startle her, "you ready to tell me who it is?"

Luna didn't look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the water, where the surface broke into tiny ripples from the breeze. Her feet brushed lazily through the grass. "Maybe," she said. "But don't get smug about it."

Kevin gave a quiet huff of amusement—half laugh, half warning that smugness was practically guaranteed. "Hold on," he said, straightening with exaggerated purpose. "Let me guess first."

She shot him a look sharp enough to cleave stone, but he only grinned wider, folding his arms like a detective about to crack a notorious case. Her silence gave him license to continue.

He studied her face as though it were a riddle etched in ancient script. Then—dramatically, triumphantly—he snapped his fingers. "I've got it! It's Luke, isn't it? The lumberjack charm finally got to you."

Luna scoffed so loudly a nearby bird took flight. "No. Absolutely not."

Kevin didn't miss a beat. He leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting skyward as his mind shuffled through Waffle Town's bachelors like flipping through a deck of cards. "Alright, alright… then what about Chase? Girls love a guy who can cook. That whole brooding-chef-with-a-tragic-backstory thing."

Luna recoiled as though he'd suggested she drink spoiled milk. "Ew. No!"

He laughed—a full, bright sound—but beneath it flickered genuine curiosity. Now he was invested. Now this was a challenge. Kevin tilted his head, mentally combing through the remaining bachelors with the seriousness of a man narrowing suspects in a murder mystery.

Then, more hesitantly, he ventured, "…Could it be Julius?"

The transformation on Luna's face was instantaneous. Offense, horror, disbelief—all layered together like a painting done in furious strokes. Her eyebrows shot up. Her nose scrunched. A low, guttural sound escaped her throat.

"It's Gill!" she burst out, throwing her hands in the air. "Gill, you idiot!"

Kevin blinked, stunned into a silence so heavy it might have made the lake itself pause. Then he straightened, eyes wide as the name sank in. "Gill? Mayor Hamilton's son? Mr. Rules-and-Regulations himself?"

Luna tore her gaze away, her cheeks warming as she pressed her lips into a thin line. She knew exactly how it sounded—falling for Waffle Town's resident blueprint of responsibility. Calm, stern, infuriatingly composed Gill. The last man anyone expected her to choose. The only one who knew about the promise she still carried like a secret pressed to her heart.

Kevin let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a disbelieving laugh. "Wow. Didn't see that one coming."

"What are you saying? I'm not cute enough for Gill?" Luna snapped, turning sharply to Kevin with her hands on her hips, her cheeks puffed in frustration.

Kevin blinked, then chuckled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "No, no, that's not what I meant," he said quickly. "It's just… Gill's not exactly a people person, you know? A lot of girls have already tried asking him out, but he shoots everyone down. I was just trying to spare you the heartbreak."

Luna's expression softened, and she let out a slow, tired sigh. Her gaze drifted away from Kevin and toward the calm waters of Maple Lake. A lone carp rose to the surface, nipping at a bug and sending ripples across the glassy surface. The silence between them stretched for a moment before she finally spoke again, her voice low and wistful.

"Gill and I are childhood friends," Luna said quietly, as though admitting a secret she'd held too close for too long.

Kevin's eyebrows almost leapt off his face. "Wait, really?"

She nodded, arms folding gently across her chest—not defensively, but protectively, like she was holding something fragile and warm. "We met right here, actually. Under this tree."

The old tree arched above them, its branches swaying in the late afternoon breeze as if acknowledging its role in her memory. Kevin shifted closer, drawn in by the softening in Luna's voice. She lowered herself onto the grass, her heart and mind prepared to tell her story.

"We were six," she began, eyes distant. "Gill was here by himself, looking really upset. When I asked him what's wrong, he told me he was tired of having to be 'the perfect son' all the time."

Kevin let out a low breath; the idea of a six-year-old carrying the weight of perfection settled over him like a stone. He'd only known Gill for a few years, and even in that time he'd barely managed to pull more than a handful of words from him on a good day. Gill was composed, polished, wound so tightly with expectations that it was hard to imagine him any other way.

But this—this tiny glimpse into his past, this image of a lonely little boy confessing he was tired of being "the perfect son"—shifted something in Kevin's mind. It softened Gill's sharp edges, made him feel startlingly human. Less like the stiff, rule-bound robot everyone joked about, and more like someone who'd simply forgotten how to be anything else.

"I didn't really understand what that meant back then," Luna continued, her tone lighter now, "but I hated seeing anyone sad, so I asked if he wanted to play." A small smile tugged at her lips, fragile but unmistakably fond.

"He looked at me like I was absolutely nuts. But then he said yes. We played tag, hide-and-seek, even house…" She laughed under her breath, shaking her head. "He was always so serious, but I made him laugh. I was the only kid who didn't treat him like the mayor's son."

Kevin chuckled. "That… actually sounds adorable."

"Oh, we didn't always get along," Luna said, waving a hand. "He could be bossy. And I was—well, me. Stubborn, loud, impossible." Her grin faded. "But we always made up. We were that close."

Her fingers tightened in her skirt, subtle but telling. Kevin noticed the way her breath hitched, how her shoulders curled inward. "When I turned ten, my family had to move to the city," she said softly. "On the day we left—just before I boarded the boat—Gill came running down the dock."

She swallowed. The memory sharpened, unmistakably vivid in her mind. "He was out of breath. And he looked like he was about to cry."

Kevin's expression gentled, the smugness gone. The quiet around them deepened, as if even the lake leaned in to listen.

"He asked if I was ever coming back. I told him I didn't know." Luna's voice thinned, nearly breaking. "Then he said he'd wait for me. And that when we grew up…" She blinked fast. "He said he was going to marry me someday."

The words lingered between them, settling over the grass, the tree, the lake—over both of them—with the weight of a promise neither of the children who made it could fully understand at the time, yet one that had never quite faded for her.

Kevin exhaled slowly, a soft smile forming as he leaned forward, resting his arms over his knees. "Well," he said warmly, "I guess I'm not just playing matchmaker." His smile widened, gentle and sincere. "I'm helping finish a love story that started years ago."

Luna glanced at him, her expression unreadable—but her eyes shimmered, soft and uncertain, like sunlight tremoring across the lake's surface.

Kevin stood up and planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the water with the air of a strategist preparing for battle. "Let's see… where should we start?"

He didn't get the chance to think aloud for long. Luna placed her hands on her hips, determination blazing in her posture, her stance firm. "I made a present for Gill!" she declared, chin lifted proudly. "I just haven't had a chance to give it to him!"

Kevin blinked, intrigued. "Really? Let's see it."

With a shy, almost giddy smile, Luna slipped a hand into her pocket and withdrew a small, neatly folded handkerchief. The fabric was soft and pale, embroidered with delicate golden thread. In the center, carefully stitched in her unsteady but earnest hand, were the words: I like you. Will you go out with me?

She handed it to Kevin, He held it delicately between his fingers, his brows rising. "Wow. This is actually… really sweet," he admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It's a good start; but a solid confession letter would really seal the deal."

Luna's bright confidence wavered, her shoulders drooping as she let out a groan. "Ugh, I'm not good at writing mushy stuff," she muttered. "Can't I just give him the handkerchief and say how I feel?"

Kevin chuckled and returned the fabric with surprising gentleness. "You could… but a heartfelt letter might really move him. Especially coming from you."

Luna hesitated, clutching the handkerchief to her chest. Her gaze dropped to the grass, uncertainty clouding her features. When she finally looked up, her voice was soft, almost fragile.

"Could you… write the confession for me?" she asked. The quiet vulnerability in the request hit him harder than he expected.

Kevin's expression warmed, and a slow, genuine smile curved his lips. "Of course I can. I've got just the words to melt even Gill's icy heart."

Luna's eyes brightened instantly, sparkling with gratitude and excitement. "Really? You'd do that for me?"

"Absolutely." Kevin tapped two fingers against his temple with mock bravado. "Meet me here tomorrow—same place, same time. And hey, dress to impress! If we're gonna win over Waffle Town's most stoic bachelor, we want him completely blindsided."

Luna let out a breathless laugh, her cheeks flushed with color. "It's a deal."

Kevin and Luna then exchanged a final wave beneath the gentle sway of Ben's Tree, its branches murmuring softly in the morning breeze. They parted ways beneath the glow of the sun—Luna heading down the winding path toward Waffle Town, Kevin toward the quiet stretch of road leading to the Caramel River District.

By the time Kevin finished his choresfor the day; feeding the animals, refreshing their hay, watering his crops, and stacking lumber by the house, night had settled fully over Waffle Island. Stars gathered like scattered jewels across the indigo sky, and a cool breeze threaded through the open windows of his farmhouse, carrying with it the earthy scent of river reeds.

Inside, Kevin sat at his desk, the old wood worn smooth by years of scribbled notes, farm ledgers, and half-finished doodles. He lit a small candle lamp; its glow flickered to life, casting warm halos across the parchment laid before him. He set out a fresh sheet, dipped his quill into ink, and took a steady breath.

"This letter has to be perfect," Kevin murmured to himself. But perfection, he discovered, was a far more elusive thing than he'd imagined.

He stared at the blank page for what felt like an eternity, the feathered end of the quill tapping rhythmically—then irritably—against his chin. He didn't know Luna that well. Not the deeper pieces of her, the quiet emotions behind the bright bark of her laughter or the stubborn tilt of her chin. And Gill? Gill was a riddle bound in posture and pressed into a neatly ironed cravat. A young man armored in routine and self-discipline, offering the world nothing but carefully measured words.

Between the two of them, Kevin felt hopelessly underqualified to write something as intimate as a confession. Still, he tried.

Draft after draft spilled onto the parchment, each one more disappointing than the last. Too stiff. Too dripping with sentiment. Too hollow to belong to someone with a heart as loud as Luna's or a soul as guarded as Gill's. He wished he knew more—more of their shared past, more of their hearts, more of the invisible thread that still pulled them together after all these years.

But he knew only fragments. Gill, the aspiring mayor who clung to structure like a lifeline. Luna, a whirlwind of energy, honesty, and impatience—someone who crashed through life with a kind of fearless sincerity that Kevin admired but could never replicate in ink. How was he supposed to capture something like that?

One by one, the pages were crumpled and tossed aside. The wastebasket overflowed until discarded sheets fanned across the floor like the wings of fallen paper birds. Hours slipped by—quiet, relentless—and Kevin was left with nothing but frustration and another page of soulless words for something so delicate, so meaningful.

He rubbed his eyes, leaning back in his chair as the candle flickered low. The only anchor he had, the single thread he could cling to, was the memory of Luna under Ben's Tree earlier that day. The way her voice softened when she spoke of the boy Gill used to be. The faint shimmer in her eyes, like she was seeing not the lake before her, but the past reflected in its surface. Kevin could still picture her describing two children at Maple Lake—running, laughing, sharing secrets and promises too big for their small hands to hold.

Impossible promises. But promises she'd believed in with all her heart. And that, Kevin realized, was where the letter had to begin.

Kevin closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting the quiet of the farmhouse wrap around him like a warm, steadying cloak. The crickets outside sang their nighttime chorus. The wooden beams groaned with familiar, comforting creaks. Far off, an owl hooted—a solitary sentinel of the fields. But slowly, the world around him faded away, replaced by the vision of a little girl and a little boy under Ben's Tree.

And then, like the slow unfurling of petals greeting dawn, the words began to bloom. He didn't just write from Luna's perspective. He wrote from her heart; from the memories she held in her fragile hands, from the unspoken hopes she tucked away behind that stubborn smile. The letter spoke of a small girl standing on the banks of Maple Lake, watching a lonely boy struggle beneath burdens he was far too young to bear. It described their games beneath Ben's Tree—hide-and-seek, tag, even the silly rounds of house they played with all the seriousness of children who believed pretend could fix anything.

Kevin wrote of the arguments sparked by clashing personalities—her fiery impatience, his quiet, exacting precision—and how they never stayed angry for long. He described Luna's laughter, bright and surprised, a sound she hadn't realized she'd been missing until it returned.

He wrote about the docks—the day Luna left. The small boy with trembling breaths and eyes too full for his age. The promise exchanged through tears and hope: a vow born of childish certainty but carried through the years like a lantern in Luna's heart.

Every few lines, Kevin paused, letting the weight of the story settle. This wasn't just ink. It wasn't merely a confession. It was a bridge—one built from memory, threaded with longing, spanning the years between then and now.

He then signed the bottom— From the girl who never stopped waiting

The farmhouse clock chimed midnight. Kevin leaned back in his chair, exhaustion washing over him in gentle waves. The candle had burned low, wax pooling like molten gold at its base, and the finished letter glowed softly beneath its light.

He smiled—a quiet, weary smile of satisfaction. The letter was ready. He smiled to himself, his fingers ink-stained and eyes bleary. Tomorrow, he would give it to Luna. And maybe it would be the beginning of something beautiful. Love for Luna and forgiveness for himself.

The next day, the sun hung lazily in the sky, casting dappled light through the branches of Ben's Tree in the quiet Maple Lake District. The lake shimmered like glass, untouched and serene, reflecting the slow drift of clouds above. Kevin stood beneath the great tree's wide branches, the gentle rustle of leaves filling the silence as he waited. Then, from the winding path between the trees, Luna appeared.

She jogged over with a light bounce in her step, her cheeks pink from the warm Spring air. "Did you finish it?" she asked, brushing her bangs from her eyes.

Kevin smiled and reached into his rucksack, pulling out a folded envelope. "I did," he said simply, handing it to her like he was offering something sacred.

Luna took it with delicate fingers, her brows furrowed with anticipation. She carefully opened the flap and unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning the page. At first, her expression was unreadable, lips slightly parted in concentration. But then she gasped softly, her hands tightening on the paper.

Each word drew her in deeper. The emotion, the care, the memories—everything was there. Her own story told with such tenderness and clarity that it made her heart ache. She could see herself in every line: the stubborn little girl who didn't want to leave, the promise whispered at the docks, the boy she had waited years to see again.

"I… I could never write something like this," she breathed, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.

Kevin scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. "You gave me the heart of it. All I did was put it into words."

Luna looked up from the letter, her voice quiet. "It's perfect."

The breeze swept through the clearing, lifting strands of Luna's pink hair as she folded the letter with care, pressing it gently to her chest. Underneath the cool shade of Ben's Tree, something unspoken passed between her and Kevin—trust, perhaps, or the first fragile threads of forgiveness.

But just as the tender moment lingered between them, Kevin tilted his head, brow knitting as his gaze drifted down Luna's outfit—her yellow dress, scalloped and delicate, cinched with an oversized pink bow at her waist. Her matching pink shoes caught the morning light with a faint sheen. She looked less like a young woman preparing to confess her deepest feelings… and more like an exquisitely crafted porcelain doll.

"Hey, not to be rude," he ventured, breaking the stillness with a wince and a cautious tone, "but… why do you dress like that?"

Luna's head snapped toward him, eyes blazing, hands on hips, mouth falling open in outrage. "Excuse me?!"

Kevin threw his hands up in surrender pleading for her not to kill him. "I didn't mean it in a bad way!"

She huffed sharply, inhaling as though ready to unleash a verbal storm—but then the fight seeped out of her shoulders. Her lips relaxed from a snarl into a grudging frown. She gave him a slanted glance and muttered, "Okay, I admit that is a fair question."

Crossing her arms, she took a deliberate moment to look him up and down, as if measuring how ready he was for the truth. "Picture me wearing normal twenty-something attire."

Kevin blinked. "Like… what? Jeans and a T-shirt?"

"Sure. Or a hoodie. A pencil skirt. Anything you think counts as 'normal.'"

He closed his eyes, a crooked smile tugging at his lips as he tried. First, he imagined Luna in a tailored blouse and a sleek, professional skirt. The image lasted all of two seconds before he grimaced—she looked like a little kid raiding her mother's closet, pretending to attend an office job she had no business being at.

Next came Luna in jeans and a hoodie. Casual. Modern. Perfectly ordinary. And yet… the mental picture that formed was of an middle-schooler who'd wandered off during a class field trip, searching for their missing chaperone.

Finally, he tried something elegant—a flowing evening gown, high heels, a delicate wine glass in her hand. The dress fit. The makeup suited her. But something about the scenario felt profoundly, almost eerily wrong. Not because she looked bad… but because she looked like she'd stumbled into a world that didn't belong to her—and one that would swallow her whole with all its staring eyes.

Kevin opened his eyes. His cheeks had gone so red they bordered on purple. "Okay… yeah. I see your point now."

Luna lifted her chin triumphantly and brushed imaginary lint from her frilled sleeve with a regal flick. "Growing up in a tailor shop has its advantages you know," she said with a small, satisfied smile. "I got pretty good at designing clothes that suit me; not just in size, but in style."

Her yellow skirt fluttered in the breeze as she spoke, bright and unapologetic—much like her. She looked down at her dress, fingers lightly touching the embroidered hem. "I figured if I'm going to be stuck like this forever… I might as well look presentable. Something me—not what the world thinks I should look like."

Kevin looked at her differently now.n. Not with pity, but with something closer to admiration. She wasn't just adapting to the cards life had dealt her, she was turning them into a fashion statement. Into armor she uses to protect her delicate heart.

"Well," he said, smiling with new respect, "you do pull it off. It suits you."

Luna arched a brow, a wickedly playful glint flashing in her eyes. "You're lucky I'm letting you off the hook. Normally, a comment like that would get you tossed into the lake and drowned."

Kevin laughed—because that seemed like the correct response. Deep inside, a bead of sweat trickled down his spine with nervousness like a farmer who just dodged a bullet. With Luna, threats like that fell into a strange gray area: technically a joke… but also entirely plausible.

His imagination betrayed him immediately. He already pictured her: tiny, frilly, pink-haired, bow-wearing Luna standing knee-deep in Maple Lake, gripping the back of his head with both hands like some furious, pastel-themed executioner. Kevin's arms flailed uselessly as she strangled him underwater, her voice ringing heroically across the rippling surface: "DIE! DIE! DIE!"

The mental image was so vivid he almost coughed up lake water. Meanwhile, the real Luna simply dusted off her skirt and hummed like she hadn't just described first-degree aquatic murder.

Kevin swallowed. "R-Right. Lucky me."

Luna smirked, clearly pleased with herself. Her dress fluttered innocently in the breeze, betraying none of the violent cartoon energy she radiated.

After shaking off the lingering image of his own watery demise, Kevin drew in a steadying breath and turned back to Luna. His voice softened. "You ready?"

Luna nodded—quickly, almost too quickly. And Kevin saw it all: the tiniest tremor in her fingers as they tightened around the letter, the stiff set of her shoulders, the restless flicker of her gaze. Her expression was confident, yes—but only in the way a painting could be confident. Painted on, yet not quite hiding the nerves blooming beneath.

They walked together without speaking, the quiet crunch of their footsteps the only sound along the path. The air smelled faintly of clover, and sunlight threaded gently through the leaves above them. Ahead, the silhouette of Alan's Tree rose into view—ancient, towering, its sprawling branches almost protective as they reached outward in every direction.

As they approached the base of the old tree, Kevin paused and touched Luna's shoulder lightly.

"Wait here," he said. "I'll go get Gill."

Another nod. But this one was smaller, tighter. Luna watched him disappear around the corner of Town Hall, her breath catching in her throat as the last glimpse of his shadow vanished.

And then it was just her. Luna, the letter, the handkerchief… and the storm of thoughts she'd carried for years. Her and every feeling that had followed her from childhood to this exact breath.

The wind shifted, catching the hem of her scalloped dress and lifting it in a soft flutter. Time seemed to slow—stretching thin and sticky, like pulled taffy—each second stretching longer than the last. The gentle buzz of bees drifting through the flower field in front of Town Hall, the distant chatter and footsteps of townsfolk going about their day… all of it faded into a muted, blurry hum, as though someone had stepped far away and shut a door behind her. It was now just her and the weight of what she was about to do. Just her and the promise she still held close.

Her thoughts, of course, did the opposite.

What if Gill doesn't remember?

What if he's changed?

What if… what if I'm just some crumpled childhood memory he tidied away years ago?

Her grip tightened on both the letter and the handkerchief, pressing them hard against her chest as if the pressure alone could anchor the wild beating of her heart. But the flutter grew only faster—faster still—as she stood beneath Alan's Tree, waiting for the boy who had once promised to wait for her. Still… even with all the doubts circling her, one thing burned steady in her chest—the promise.

The day she left Waffle Town lived in Luna's memory with painful clarity. She remembered Gill running down the docks after her—his cheeks flushed red, his usually perfect tie crooked from how fast he'd sprinted, breath hitching in frantic bursts. He had grabbed her hand, his fingers trembling as he asked, voice breaking, if she was coming back.

And when she couldn't answer—when the only response she managed was a sob and a helpless shake of her head—Gill had straightened, swallowed his fear, and made a promise.

That someday, when they were grown up… he would marry her. He said it with all the sincerity a ten-year-old heart could hold—pure, unfiltered, aching honesty—and Luna had carried those words with her ever since. Through every year away. Through every lonely moment in the city. Through every hope that refused to dim. Even now, grown as they were, despite their height difference and the ways they'd changed, she believed Gill would honor the vow he'd made on that old wooden dock.

And now she stood beneath Alan's Tree. Not the little girl in sailor dresses clutching her stuffed bunny, but not quite like the other young women her age either. She hovered somewhere between who she used to be and who she hoped to become—suspended between childhood dreams and very adult doubts.

Because Gill had never been just the mayor's son or the quiet boy with a mind full of rules. To her, he was a promise—one she had folded gently into her heart and carried close for years, like a pressed flower hidden between the pages of a cherished book.

The breeze stirred the Spring air gently, lifting the hem of Luna's frilly skirt and the loose strands of her pink hair. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the letter Kevin had written—beautiful, heartfelt words she never could've written herself, but which captured everything she wanted to say. Every beat of her long-held hope. The rustle of leaves overhead did little to calm the storm in her chest.

Then, at last, came the footsteps. Measured, confident, and unhurried; unmistakenably Gill. He rounded the corner with the kind of posture that looked carved from marble—upright, crisp, impossibly composed. He wore a slate-gray vest that fit him with tailor-sharp precision, paired with matching slacks and a perfectly ironed shirt. He looked as though he'd stepped straight out of a mayoral portrait—every line crisp, every expression controlled. Even his gaze held that quiet firmness of someone already carrying the future of Waffle Town on his shoulders.

From the thick trunk of the neighboring tree, Kevin peeked out just long enough to give Luna a discreet thumbs-up. "You got this," he whispered, his voice almost indistinguishable from the rustling leaves.

Luna breathed in slowly. Then again. Her fingers tightened around the letter until the edges dug into her palms. Her heart hammered harder with each step Gill took toward her. Her childhood friend, their promise, and the man she'd returned to.

Gill slowed to a stop before her. When he spoke, he sighed first, almost as if bracing himself. "What is it, Luna? I'm busy."

His tone wasn't sharp. It wasn't cruel. But it was distant—cool and formal in a way that sliced far deeper than outright anger ever could. It was a tone meant for strangers, for townsfolk he needed to keep at arm's length; not for the girl who once chased him through Waffle Town and wiped tears from his cheeks at the docks.

Luna's lips parted, but no words came. Her voice snagged on fear. She lowered her gaze, swallowing hard, gathering whatever courage was left. Then slowly, she lifted the letter between them.

Her voice was barely more than a breath. "I've been waiting a long time for this moment."

Gill's brows knit with restrained confusion, but he took the folded parchment from her hands. He unfolded it carefully, eyes scanning the neat handwriting—Kevin's attempt at her heart laid bare. The memories. The emotions. The promise made at the dock many years ago.

And yet, his expression didn't soften. Not even a flicker. Luna's breath hitched, but she didn't give up. She held out the handkerchief next—the one she'd embroidered with trembling fingers. Her confession stitched in gold: "I like you. Will you go out with me?"

Gill stared at the fabric, then at Luna—really stared. At her hopeful eyes, wide and shining. At her trembling hands held out like an offering. At her heart laid bare in the simplest, sweetest confession she could give.

But as his gaze dropped back to the letter, to the memories Kevin had tried to resurrect—the laughter, the vows, the childhood promise—his expression didn't soften. It hardened.

A subtle tightening of his jaw. A cool flattening of his eyes. A wall slamming down. When he finally lifted his gaze again, it was ice. "Luna," he said, his voice devoid of warmth, "I have no intention of fulfilling that promise."

The world seemed to tilt. Luna blinked, a soft, broken sound catching in her throat. "W–What?"

Gill didn't waver. Not even for a moment. "I am going to be the next mayor of Waffle Town once my father retires," he continued, tone razor-straight. "I have responsibilities. Expectations. And I can't be taken seriously if I'm seen with someone who…" His words snagged for half a heartbeat—just long enough for the cruelty to sharpen. "Looks like you."

It struck like a physical blow. Luna's breath vanished. Her pulse stuttered. The world around her—Alan's Tree, the sunlight, the gentle rustling of leaves—all blurred into meaningless shapes. Gill didn't seem to notice, or didn't care.

He folded the letter with clinical precision. Then—deliberately, almost ceremonially—tore it straight down the middle. The parchment split with a soft, unforgiving whisper, a sound quiet enough to be missed by the world but deafening to her. Two halves drifted to the ground like wounded birds.

Luna didn't move. She couldn't. Shock had hollowed her out, carved her into stillness. The handkerchief slipped from her trembling fingers, falling in a defeated curl beside the torn letter. The golden thread she had stitched with so much care—I like you. Will you go out with me?—lay facedown in the dirt, its sweetness smothered by the earth.

Gill turned without another word. No hesitation, no faltering, and no looking back. Just the crisp, rhythmic tap of his shoes fading along the cobblestone path—steady, unyielding, each step another blow to her chest.

Luna stood frozen beneath the ancient branches of Alan's Tree, its leaves whispering above her as though mourning. The world seemed to dim at the edges, colors draining, air thinning. Her heart, once swollen with hope, folded inward on itself—collapsing slow, silent, and devastating, like a dying star imploding into darkness.

She didn't cry. She simply stood in the wreckage of a promise that had finally, brutally, reached its end.

Kevin hurried toward Luna, his jaw slack with disbelief, still reeling from what he had just witnessed. "Luna… are you okay?" he asked softly, as if afraid his voice might splinter the fragile silence hanging between them.

She didn't answer. Luna stood rooted beneath Alan's Tree, her small frame trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. Her fingers—still curled from where she had once held the handkerchief—hung limp at her sides. Her wide, stunned eyes stared through the empty space where Gill had been moments before, as though trying to piece together how the boy who once chased her around this very tree… could become so cold. So cruel.

Kevin stepped closer, fists clenching at his sides. Fury boiled up in him—hot and blinding. He turned sharply, ready to storm to Town Hall and drag Gill out by his perfectly pressed collar and knock some sense into him.

But before he could take a single step, Luna's fingers caught the hem of his shirt—small, shaking, desperate. "Let him go," she whispered.

Her voice cracked like delicate glass fracturing under pressure. Her eyes shimmered with tears—but none fell. She held them back with trembling lashes and sheer force, like someone who had learned long ago that crying solved nothing.

"He's right," she breathed.

Kevin froze. Slowly, he turned back toward her. And then he saw it—really saw it. The heartbreak she was trying so fiercely to swallow. The way she stood stiff and small, holding herself together with nothing but stubborn pride and leftover childhood hope. A hope that had just been shattered.

"What was I thinking?" she whispered to the ground. Her lashes trembled as they lowered, brushing her pale cheeks. "I mean… let's be real. Who would ever want to be with a freak like me?"

The word hit Kevin like a punch. Freak. The way she said it; so matter-of-fact, so practiced—told him she'd heard it before. Maybe from others. Maybe from herself. Maybe from the whole world that never knew what to make of a girl like Luna. A word that had settled into her bones, deep and venomous.

He opened his mouth—to tell her she was wrong, painfully wrong, that she was bright and brave and nothing short of extraordinary. But before he could speak, Luna released his shirt. She turned away. Her steps were slow at first, stiff, careful—as if each one threatened to break the thin shell of composure she had wrapped around herself.

Then, just as she thought Kevin wasn't watching— She shattered. A sound tore from her chest. Raw. Wounded. A sob that ricocheted through the quiet spring air like a broken bell. And Luna ran. Bolted down the path toward the Tailor Shop, ribbons and lace fluttering behind her like the torn remnants of a little girl's dream.

Kevin stood frozen in place, his breath caught somewhere between his chest and throat as he watched Luna flee. Her tiny figure disappeared between the trees, swallowed by shadows and sunlight alike. He didn't call after her—he couldn't. Words felt useless. Solutions unreachable. And beneath the ancient branches of Alan's Tree, he realized he had no way to mend what had just shattered.

That hadn't been simple rejection she'd endured. Not even was the violent reopening of an old wound—one she had carried, silently and stubbornly, for years.

And at last, painfully late, Kevin understood. Luna didn't lash out because she was short. She didn't bristle and bite because she enjoyed being difficult. Her sharpness wasn't arrogance, and her pranks weren't immaturity. She was reacting—instinctively, desperately—to a lifetime of being treated differently. Judged for how she looked. Spoken down to. Looked over. Looked past. Looked through.

While other women her age were adored, admired without question… Luna had grown accustomed to flinches, whispers, and dismissive smiles. She had built armor from impulse, attitude, and mischief—because no one other than her family had ever bothered to protect her.

The breeze curled around Kevin's shoulders, warm and gentle, rustling the canopy above. But he felt none of it. His hands hung useless at his sides, heavy as stone.

"This…" he whispered into the quiet air, his voice thickening, "…this is the worst she's ever been hurt."

And for the first time since arriving in Waffle Town—after facing storms, stubborn livestock, and disasters of every kind—Kevin felt something he had never felt before. Truly, achingly powerless.