Chapter 7: Summer, Sorrow, and Solace

Time passed, Spring gave way to Summer. With it, came the golden warmth that bathed Waffle Town in light. The days grew longer, the sun stronger, and the salty scent of the sea wafted through the streets. Residents took to the beach after long days of work—laughing, swimming, lounging beneath colorful umbrellas. Children ran barefoot across the sand, couples held hands by the shoreline, and vendors sold fruit smoothies and grilled corn with a smile. But not everyone basked in the season's joy.

Luna hadn't stepped outside since that awful day under Alan's Tree, she had stayed hidden within the tailor shop in her bedroom. Curtains drawn. Doors locked. Her sewing machine sat untouched by the window, threads dangling lifelessly from the spindle. The room was a tangle of half-finished projects, bolts of fabric, and silence.

Candace brought her meals and tried to coax her into short conversations, but Luna barely spoke. Sometimes she'd nod. Sometimes she'd offer a small smile. But she never left. Too embarrassed. Too raw. Too afraid of the eyes that might follow her, the whispers that might trail behind her like shadows.

The girl who once wore her doll-like outfits with pride now felt every ruffle was a spotlight. Every ribbon, a joke. The memory of Gill's cold rejection haunted her—his words, sharp and dismissive, echoing louder than they should have. It was one thing to be turned down. It was another to be treated like she was a burden to be cast aside.

She watched from her window as others passed by, arms full of beach towels and laughter, bathing suits peeking from beneath casual clothes. Luna couldn't bring herself to face the world again. Not yet. Not while she still felt like the world didn't see her as someone worth facing at all.

Candace had been worried for days now. With each sunrise, her concern deepened like water soaking into fabric—slow, heavy, inescapable. The laughter of townsfolk outside, the scent of grilled corn from the plaza, even the rhythmic crash of waves down by the beach—all the vibrant signs of Summer—only seemed to amplify the stillness lingering in the shop.

She approached Luna's room with a tray of tea in her hands, pausing at the door she had knocked on far too many times lately. This time was no different. Her knuckles tapped softly against the wood.

"Luna," she said gently, "you can't stay in here forever…" There was no answer. Just silence.

Candace let out a quiet sigh and slowly turned the handle. The door creaked open, and the room greeted her with a dim hush. Curtains drawn. Air stale. And Luna—curled up on her bed like a porcelain doll left behind—hugging a black bunny plushie tightly to her chest. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying, her hair slightly mussed, her usual pride in appearance replaced by the vulnerability of someone who had been cracked open.

"I just…" Luna's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I just wanted someone to accept me. For who I am." The words hung in the air like smoke—bitter, lingering.

Candace placed the tea tray on the desk before sitting gently beside her sister. She wrapped one arm around Luna's delicate shoulders, drawing her in with the kind of warmth only an older sister could offer. "You will," Candace murmured. "One day, you'll find someone who doesn't see your height first… someone who sees your heart. Who loves all of you—just as you are."

Luna didn't respond. Not with words. But she didn't pull away either. Her head rested lightly against Candace's shoulder, the smallest of surrenders—a silent plea for comfort she didn't have the strength to ask for. And for now, that was enough. A flicker of warmth in the cold haze of heartbreak. A quiet promise that the world hadn't turned its back on her completely.

When Candace finally left her alone, Luna sat in the stillness of her room, the air thick with silence. Her eyes drifted toward the small drawer beside her bed. With slow, deliberate fingers, she opened it and pulled out the handkerchief—the one she had embroidered with trembling hope, the one she had poured hours of care into for someone who never truly saw her. Gill.

Her throat tightened. The needlework was delicate, each letter stitched with the kind of sincerity only a heart in love could create. But now, all she could see in those careful threads was a cruel reminder. Of rejection. Of shame. Of being looked at and still unseen.

With a breath sharp as glass, she reached for her seam ripper. One by one, the letters came undone. Threads of love unraveled under her touch. Her hands trembled, but her jaw set firm. She wasn't sure if Candace had been right—if there truly was someone out there who could accept her as she was—but she knew this: Gill wasn't that person. And she would not let his indifference define her. She wouldn't give him the power to haunt her any longer.

By the time the sun rose the next morning, Luna had tucked the handkerchief away—blank, empty, a symbol of something she had begun to let go. The world outside bloomed with quiet beauty. The sun crept over Waffle Town like a whispered apology, its golden light spilling through the branches and bathing the Caramel River District in soft amber hues. The Summer air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and dew-kissed earth. Not a soul stirred. No shop doors opened. No carts clattered down the road.

It was as if the town itself had paused for her, holding its breath in gentle reverence—as though it, too, understood that some mornings aren't about moving forward, but simply about standing still and surviving the weight of yesterday. It will be the first time Luna had left the house in days.

She slipped out early, careful not to wake Candace, careful not to be seen. Her footsteps barely stirred the dust of the old path. She kept her arms wrapped around herself, her gaze lowered to the trail beneath her feet. Though the warm Summer breeze swept over her skin like silk, the ache in her chest remained untouched—deep, quiet, persistent.

Along the winding paths of the Caramel River District, Luna finally slowed, breath hitching as she came to a stop at the edge of a wide crop field. Neat rows stretched before her, disappearing into the gentle morning haze. Young Summer sprouts were just beginning to wake beneath the touch of sunlight, their tiny leaves trembling softly in the breeze.

They were barely more than whispers of life—fragile, tentative—but undeniably alive. Small green blades pushed stubbornly through the dark soil, reaching upward with trembling determination, as though tiny hands were stretching toward something warmer… something kinder.

Luna stood silently, her gaze fixed upon them. They were so uncertain, so delicate, so very small—yet they grew anyway. They didn't question their right to exist. They didn't hesitate. They simply reached for the light they couldn't even see yet.

Her breath caught in her throat. They reminded her of herself—except she was painfully certain she wasn't growing anymore. Her arms wrapped tighter around her body, as if she could hold herself together against the heaviness pooling in her chest. The crops would flourish under sun and rain, nurtured by steady care, guided gently into life. They had someone to tend to them. Someone who believed they were worth the effort.

But what about her? No guiding warmth and no careful hands. Just the hollow ache of being different. Always the strange one. Always the one people whispered about, pitied, dismissed… or pretended not to see at all.

"They'll keep growing," she thought bitterly. "They'll become something beautiful." Her gaze lowered. "But I'm still stuck. Still small. Still… wrong."

Her fingers curled slightly as the wind swept softly across the field, stirring leaves, bending stalks, coaxing life forward. It passed right through her as though she weren't even there.

She tried to smile. To toughen up. To pretend none of it mattered. But trying didn't stop the loneliness. Trying didn't make her any less alone.

As Luna's gaze lingered on the trembling leaves, she didn't notice the figure standing farther down the path. Kevin had arrived with a watering can in hand, ready to tend to the young crops sprouting in the field before her. But the moment he spotted her, he froze mid-step.

He hadn't spoken to her since that afternoon beneath Alan's Tree, not since the promise shattered, not since she'd turned away, tears glimmering in her eyes, the weight of rejection pressing against her small shoulders like the sky itself had collapsed. He had wanted to chase after her then. He had wanted to fix something. But wanting and being able to were two different things.

And now, standing there, watching her wrapped in silence and soft light, the urge to call out surged up again. He wanted to say her name. To apologize properly this time. To say something—anything—that might matter. But he didn't, or rather he couldn't. The sight of her stole the words from his throat. She stood there so quietly, so still, the breeze brushing through her pink hair as if even the wind was trying to comfort her. There was a softness about her that he rarely had the privilege to see—no fire in her voice, no sharpness in her posture, just quiet, aching loneliness. And Kevin understood, with painful clarity, that words alone wouldn't mend what had broken. Not this time.

Then, suddenly, an idea sparked to life. Candace's gentle voice echoed in his memory—how sweets could coax Luna's guard down, how a taste of something kind could soften the sharp edges she wore like armor.

Before the thought could fade, Kevin spun on his heel and bolted for his home. His boots kicked up dust along the dirt road as he ran, determination thrumming through him like a heartbeat. He couldn't fix everything, not the pain under Alan's Tree, not the wounds carved by years of being treated differently; but maybe he could give her something small. Something gentle. Something sweet enough to melt, even for a breath, the bitterness weighing on her heart.

Within minutes his little kitchen burst into frantic life. Cream and sugar collided in hurried scoops. Fresh berries tumbled into bowls. He worked with reckless enthusiasm, as if speed alone could outrun regret. The whirring rattle of his worn hand-crank mixer filled the air, drowning out the silence of his thoughts. Soon, soft curls of purple-tinged ice cream formed, smooth and delicate, settling into mismatched ceramic bowls that were already beginning to glisten in the Summer warmth.

Carefully, almost reverently, Kevin cradled the bowls in his hands and headed back toward the crop field where he last saw Luna. The walk felt longer this time, every step wrapped in hope and uncertainty. When he arrived, he scanned the fields, heart hammering. And there she was. Still standing at the edge of the crop field, still so small against the stretch of land and sky. Still staring at those stubborn little sprouts like they might whisper the answers she desperately needed if only she stared hard enough.

Kevin drew a breath, tightening his grip on the bowls. He couldn't promise her miracles. But he could offer her sweetness, and maybe a reason to believe in a little warmth again.

"Hey," he called softly as he approached, holding out one of the bowls with a hopeful smile. "Nothing beats ice cream on a hot Summer day."

Luna blinked, startled by Kevin's sudden appearance. For a moment she could only stare at him… then at the bowl of ice cream he held out like a fragile peace offering. Her gaze flicked back to his face, unsure, hesitant. But there was no teasing in his eyes, only quiet sincerity. After a heartbeat, she gave the smallest nod and accepted it.

They walked together until they found a fallen log along the riverbank, half-draped in sunlight. The gentle murmur of the river filled the air, dragonflies drifting lazily over the glimmering surface. Neither of them spoke as they sat, shoulders just barely brushing, the world softened by the warmth of Summer and the sweetness melting slowly in their bowls.

They ate in silence—not the awkward kind, not strained or tense, just… gentle. Like the world had decided they deserved a moment of peace. Kevin scraped a bit of berry swirl with his spoon before finally clearing his throat. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I couldn't help you with Gill."

For a while, Luna didn't answer. She stared into her ice cream, watching it pool at the edges, a small sigh leaving her lips. "It's fine," she murmured, voice barely stronger than the whisper of water beside them. "I know you tried. And… I'm not mad at you anymore." Her spoon idly traced slow circles in the bowl. "It was dumb of me to think I could change his mind anyway."

Kevin's brows furrowed slightly, but he didn't interrupt. He simply listened, giving her the space she so rarely allowed herself. Letting her be honest… maybe for the first time since everything fell apart.

"I guess some people grow up and forget the promises they make," she whispered, her gaze drifting from her bowl to the glittering ribbon of river before them.

Kevin followed her gaze, eyes soft. "Some people do," he agreed gently. "But not everyone." They fell quiet after that. Not in discomfort—just in shared understanding. Two imperfect hearts resting in the afternoon warmth. Summer sunlight stretched long and golden behind them, as if the day itself refused to cast them in shadow.

As they sat on the sun-warmed log, listening to the lazy murmur of the river, something inside Luna shifted; subtle, fragile, but real. The silence between them no longer felt like something to hide behind. It felt… safe. She drew in a shaky breath, then let it out slowly, like releasing something she'd held far too long.

"I just don't get it," she said quietly, her voice trembling under the weight of the truth finally spoken aloud. "Why are people so mean to me… over something I can't control?"

Kevin turned slightly, giving her his full attention, saying nothing—because she needed listening more than answers.

"My parents… they tried their best in the city," she continued, fingers tightening around her half-melted ice cream. "It was hard. Crowded. Cold. They were always tired, always working. But they still tried to make things feel normal. Warm. Safe." Her voice wavered. "Then one day… there was a car accident." She swallowed, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the river's edge. "They never came home."

Kevin's chest tightened. Candace had told him this much before, but hearing it from Luna herself was different. This wasn't gossip or information. This was trust. Pain, unwrapped and laid carefully in the open. And he felt honored and heartbroken to be the one she chose to share it with.

"After that," Luna continued softly, "everything changed. Not just the world around me… but something inside me, too." Her fingers tightened around the bowl in her lap. "I stopped growing. I was already a little small for my age, but after they died, my body just… froze. Like the world decided I didn't get to move forward with everyone else."

She let out a faint, humorless breath. "At first, everyone thought it was adorable. A tiny girl who never grew up. They'd pinch my cheeks, give me candy, talk to me in that sing-song voice like I was a cute little doll instead of a person."

Kevin didn't move. He didn't breathe too loud. The melting ice cream in his bowl no longer mattered. Only her voice did.

"But five years passed, and…" Her eyes dimmed. "…cute stopped being cute." The warmth in her tone thinned, cracking like fragile glass. "People stopped smiling. They started whispering instead. Staring." She swallowed hard, gaze drifting away from him. "And after a while, they didn't bother pretending anymore. They'd cross the street rather than walk near me. Mutter things they thought I couldn't hear. Laugh behind my back. Or worse—say it to my face."

Her throat tightened, but she forced the words out. "They called me names. Treated me like something unnatural. Something wrong." She hugged herself a little, shoulders curling inward as if trying to shield the smallness she'd been punished for her whole life. "Nobody wanted to be around me. Nobody wanted to try." Her voice trembled. "I wasn't a person to them anymore." Her eyes glistened, but she blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. "I was… a freak of nature."

The river murmured on, soft and steady, as if the world itself was whispering that she didn't deserve any of that—that she had always deserved kindness, warmth, and a place to belong. Kevin opened his mouth to say something—but no words came. What could he even say?

"That's when Grandma decided to bring us back here," Luna added. "She hoped Waffle Town would be better. Simpler. And… in some ways, it is. Most people are nice enough. They don't ask questions. They smile, they say hello."

Her voice caught in her throat. "But the one person I wanted to see me—to really see me for who I am—he…" Her words trailed off. She clutched her bowl tightly, her small hands trembling. "…he hurt me."

The river kept flowing, soft and unbothered. But beside it, Luna sat trying not to break, while Kevin looked at her like he was seeing her—really seeing her for the first time. And he realized something. She wasn't just someone who needed cheering up. She was someone who'd been surviving all this time, alone in ways he hadn't imagined. He didn't reach for her. Not yet. But he stayed beside her. Wanting to lift the weight off Luna's shoulders—even just a little—Kevin leaned back on his palms and offered a crooked grin.

"Y'know," Kevin began, rubbing the back of his neck with an embarrassed little grin, "I always wanted to be a farmer. Ever since I was a kid… but my classmates thought I was the weirdest kid alive. Even my parents thought I was a bit off."

Luna blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. She wasn't sure what he was doing, but curiosity tugged at her enough to listen.

Kevin let out a soft, sheepish chuckle. "Back in the city, everyone had these huge dreams;becoming doctors, engineers, CEOs. Meanwhile, there was me, doodling chickens in the margins of my notebooks and planning imaginary crop rotations during math class." He laughed at himself, shaking his head. "They used to call me 'Hay Boy.' Said I was just a country bumpkin in training. I guess I just never cared about fancy job titles or shiny offices. I wanted dirt under my nails. Sun on my back. Animals to talk to who didn't care what I was supposed to be."

He turned slightly, casting her a warm, sideways smile. "I guess… in our own ways, we both ended up feeling like outcasts, huh?"

Luna stared at him for a long moment, her expression completely unreadable. Then, without warning, she leaned forward and punched him in the arm. It didn't hurt—not even close. Her small fist thudded harmlessly against his bicep like a disgruntled kitten swatting at a much larger dog.

"You absolute idiot! Are you serious?!" she snapped, eyes narrowing as frustration sharpened her voice. "Your past is nothing like what I went through! I dealt with real pain, not—" she waved her hand dismissively, "—petty classroom teasing!"

Kevin winced dramatically, clutching his arm even though it barely stung. "Ow—okay! Yeah, fair. Terrible comparison." He lifted both hands in surrender. "That was dumb. Totally my bad."

Luna huffed, crossing her arms, cheeks puffed out with indignation as she turned away. She glared stubbornly at the horizon, as if it personally offended her. Kevin sighed quietly, bracing himself for the return of uncomfortable silence. But it didn't come. Instead, so faint he almost didn't hear it, Luna muttered, "…Thanks. Anyway."

The wind carried the tiny word gently between them, soft and fragile and honest in a way her voice rarely allowed. Kevin's lips curved into a small, relieved smile. She might have hit him, even though it didn't hurt. She might have scolded him, but she also heard him. And that was more than enough.

Her voice had lost its edge, and her posture, though rigid, no longer screamed defensiveness. There was something softer in her tone now. Something real. Because even if his attempt had been clumsy—maybe even kind of stupid—he had tried. And no one else ever had.

Eventually, the last of the ice cream melted in their bowls, and the sun rose higher in the sky, casting shimmering light across the lazy flow of the river. Luna rose to her feet, brushing a few blades of grass from her skirt.

Kevin stood as well, watching her closely. "Heading home?" he asked.

She nodded, tucking a loose strand of pink hair behind her ear. Her expression wasn't quite a smile, but it wasn't sadness either. Something lighter had crept into her eyes—tentative, but there.

"Feeling any better?" Kevin asked, voice careful, hopeful.

Luna shrugged, but there was the faintest curve to her lips now. "Yeah… I guess."

Kevin gave a small nod, his hands in his pockets. "Thanks. For, uh… forgiving me."

She glanced at him, eyes narrowing playfully. "I said I wasn't mad at you. But I never said I forgave you."

Kevin blinked. "Wait, what?"

Luna turned away, hiding the smirk she couldn't quite suppress. "But I guess I'll let you off the hook. Just this once."

He let out a slow breath of relief, laughter soft and sincere as he watched her head back along the path toward town—still small, still quietly strong… but no longer quite so alone. The sunlight seemed to follow her, warm and steady, as if even the day itself refused to let her fade back into shadow.

Kevin brushed the dust from his cargo pants and bent to pick up his watering can once more. As he turned toward the shimmering rows of crops, he lifted his gaze to the bright Summer sky and felt something settle gently in his chest. Maybe the mischievous whirlwind of pranks and sharp words had finally calmed. Maybe peace had, at last, returned to Waffle Island.

And for the first time since everything had fallen apart, Kevin allowed himself to believe in something fragile and precious. Maybe… healing had truly begun.