Chapter 32: Journey to Healing (Part 1)

The antiseptic scent of the clinic clung to the air as Pete leaned back in his chair, feigning interest as Elli's cheerful voice filled the room. She stood by a counter, meticulously organizing vials and jotting notes onto a clipboard, her words a steady stream of medical jargon he barely understood.

"…and once the clinic expands, I'll finally be able to use my midwife training," Elli said, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. "I just can't wait until more couples in town start having kids. It's going to be such a rewarding experience, don't you think?"

Pete nodded absently, his chin resting on his palm. "Mm-hmm, sounds… great," he murmured, his eyes drifting toward the clock on the wall. Only twenty minutes had passed since he arrived, but it felt like an eternity.

Elli didn't notice his lackluster response as she continued, now talking about different prenatal vitamins and the importance of routine check-ups. Pete shifted in his seat, trying to stifle a yawn. His relationship with Elli was important to him—she was sweet, kind, and undoubtedly one of the most compassionate people in town. But clinics weren't his scene, and medical talk was about as exciting as watching grass grow.

As her voice became a soothing hum in the background, Pete's eyelids grew heavier. The dull sound of ticking from the clock mixed with the soft shuffle of Elli's footsteps. Before he realized it, his head drooped forward, and a quiet snore escaped his lips.

Elli turned at the sound and paused mid-sentence, her clipboard lowering as she noticed Pete slumped in the chair, fast asleep. She raised an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and exasperation crossing her face. Setting her clipboard down, she walked over to him and gently tapped his shoulder.

"Pete," she said softly, suppressing a laugh. "Pete, wake up."

He jerked awake, sitting up straight as if he'd been caught red-handed. "Huh? What? I wasn't asleep!" he blurted, blinking rapidly.

Elli crossed her arms and gave him a knowing look, one brow arched. "Uh-huh. You were just… resting your eyes?"

Pete scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing. "Sorry, Elli. I didn't mean to zone out. It's just… uh, it's been a long day on the farm."

Elli chuckled, her irritation melting away. "It's okay, Pete. I know medical stuff isn't exactly riveting for you. I just appreciate you coming by to keep me company."

Feeling the need to save face, Pete glanced at the clock. "Oh, wow, look at the time. I really should get back to the farm—crops don't tend to themselves, you know."

Elli smiled and stepped aside, letting him stand. "Of course. Thanks for stopping by, even if it was just to take a nap."

Pete winced, but her teasing tone softened the blow. "I'll make it up to you next time, promise," he said, heading for the door.

As Pete left the clinic, a faint pang of guilt tugged at him for slipping away so abruptly. Despite the time he'd spent in Mineral Town, he still hadn't grown accustomed to the rhythm of his new home. Everything here moved differently—faster, sharper, more self-contained.

He was used to the slower pace of Flowerbud Village, where life unfolded gently like the turning of a page. Days began with work in the village, evenings ended with everyone gathered at the bar to unwind, and nights belonged to family. It was a place built on simplicity and quiet connection.

But Mineral Town… Mineral Town was more modern, humming with new technologies and people who lived in separate orbits. Neighbors nodded politely on the street only the gossipy housewives lingered to talk. Everyone seemed to have somewhere else to be.

Only Pete was truly out of place in Flowerbud, burdened by the invisible scars of a childhood he rarely allowed himself to think about. Isolation had become second nature to him. He kept to himself, tending his farm, his routines, his thoughts. Yet there were a few—just a few—who managed to break through his walls. Rick, with his reckless optimism and love for inventions. Kai, whose humor masked a heavy soul. And that Elli…

As he stepped out into the open air, the warm Summer breeze brushed against his skin, carrying the faint scent of salt from the distant sea and the promise of another golden day. Pete breathed deeply, letting the sunlight fill his lungs. For a fleeting moment, the heaviness in his chest lifted.

Mineral Town Elli really was wonderful. There was no denying that. Pretty and composed, endlessly kind, she had a way of making even the most stubborn hearts feel at ease. Her calm presence lingered like a balm, her smile genuine, her patience unshakable. She gave herself completely to the town—to its people, their worries, their health. And in that devotion, Pete saw something he both admired and feared: a warmth he wasn't sure he deserved.

And yet, as much as Pete wanted to care about her deeply, he couldn't ignore the gnawing feeling that something was missing. To him, Elli was a little boring. She wasn't the Elli he remembered from Flowerbud Village—the girl who would spend hours in the bakery's kitchen baking sweets, her hands dusted in flour as she beamed over a tray of cookies fresh from the oven. That Elli had been lively, brimming with warmth and an infectious passion for life's simpler joys. She loved desserts with a childlike glee and had once convinced Pete to eat an entire cake with her just for the fun of it.

He had been drawn to her back then, but his heart had been too heavy with the ache of losing Popuri to act on it. Back then, he couldn't let go of the girl who he failed to save, leaving an empty hole in his heart. And now, faced with this quieter, more serious version of Elli, he found himself struggling to connect in the way he once dreamed he might be able to.

Still, Pete made a mental note to try harder. Maybe next time, he'd bring coffee to keep himself awake during their conversations—or better yet, brush up on some medical topics so he didn't come across as a clueless fool. He chuckled at the thought, imagining himself rattling off facts about bandages and herbal remedies just to impress her.

As Pete turned the corner, lost in thought, he nearly collided with someone coming from the opposite direction. He stopped short—just as she did—and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Their faces were close, too close, and the charged silence that followed felt almost tangible. Popuri's bright pink hair caught the morning sunlight, the strands glowing like spun rose quartz. The soft warmth of it reflected in her eyes, and Pete felt something tighten in his chest.

He knew this wasn't her—not the Popuri he had grown up with in Flowerbud Village. Not the mischievous girl who used to laugh at his fumbling attempts to name wildflowers. Not the woman he had married, whose smile had once been the anchor to his restless heart. But the resemblance was uncanny, haunting. It reached deep inside him, stirring up memories that weren't supposed to belong to this world—a confusing blend of nostalgia and yearning that left him momentarily breathless.

Popuri, meanwhile, stood frozen, the color rising in her cheeks. The dream from the night before still clung to her mind like morning mist. She could still see it clearly—Pete leaning in, kissing that other version of her, the warmth of his touch, the tenderness in his gaze. Even now, she could feel it ghosting across her skin, so real it made her heart stumble.

Their eyes met, and the air between them thickened, fragile and uncertain. Neither spoke. Neither moved.

For a moment, it was as if two worlds overlapped—his memories of the Popuri who wasn't here, and her dream of a Pete who wasn't quite him. And in that fragile collision of past and dream, both of them felt something they didn't understand… but couldn't ignore.

After what felt like an eternity suspended in silence, Popuri finally spoke. Her voice came out sharper than she intended, laced with a cool edge meant to mask the warmth rising in her cheeks.

"You're in my way," she said curtly, refusing to meet his eyes.

Pete blinked, startled back into motion. "Sorry," he murmured, stepping aside, his tone low and uncertain.

Popuri brushed past him, the faint scent of chickens and salty air trailing in her wake. Her footsteps were quick, almost too quick—like she was trying to outrun the strange flutter that had taken hold of her chest. But just as she reached the front of the clinic, she hesitated.

Something compelled her to glance back. Pete was still standing there, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, pretending to be absorbed in the passing gulls or the distant shimmer of the ocean. But his eyes betrayed him—they flicked toward her in fleeting glances, never lingering long enough to be caught, yet always returning, drawn as if by instinct.

Popuri's lips curved faintly, though she wasn't sure if it was in amusement or exasperation. He was terrible at hiding it. Still, she couldn't really blame him. Because even now, she found herself unable to look away for long either. There was something magnetic in the space between them—an invisible current that neither of them understood, but both felt.

With a quiet sigh, Popuri turned fully toward him, placing her hands on her hips. "If you're going to stare," she called out, her tone lighter this time, "you might as well be useful." Pete straightened, caught off guard. She tilted her head toward the village path, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Come on."

Pete's head snapped up, startled by the sudden command. "What?"

"You heard me." Popuri crossed her arms, one hip shifting with deliberate impatience. "I could use an extra set of hands. Or do you have somewhere else more important to be?"

Her tone was casual, but her eyes sparkled with challenge—half teasing, half testing. Pete hesitated. He wasn't used to people asking him for help like this, least of all her. "Alright," he said after a moment, curiosity winning over caution. "What exactly do you need help with?"

Popuri didn't answer. She simplyturned, her pink hair catching the light like silk, and started down the path. The faintest smile played on her lips, the kind that suggested she knew he would follow.

And he did. There was something about her energy—bold, restless, almost electric—that pulled him in despite himself. As he trailed behind, Pete found his mind spinning with questions. Why had she asked him, of all people? And why did he feel so drawn to her, even when every logical part of him screamed that she wasn't the same Popuri he'd once loved?

They reached the Supermarket, and the soft jingle of the bell above the door broke the quiet tension between them. The air inside was cool and carried the faint scent of parchment and spice.

Behind the counter, Jeff sat slumped in his chair, his thinning hair catching the fluorescent light as he flipped idly through a magazine. He glanced up just long enough to acknowledge them.

"Oh, hello there," he said, his tone pleasant but weary, before returning to the page he'd been reading.

Popuri's lips pursed in amusement. "Hello, Jeff. Don't work too hard," she teased lightly, earning only a faint, distracted smile in return.

Pete lingered by the door, watching as Popuri strode confidently toward the shelves at the back of the store, her skirt swaying with each step. And for some reason, that mystery—the air of quiet purpose around her—made it impossible for him not to follow.

Popuri strode confidently through the aisles, a shopping list clutched in her hand. Pete trailed after her, carrying the basket she had shoved into his hands without a second thought. She moved with purpose, plucking items off the shelves with precision—bread, flour, a bag of rice, cooking oil, and several other staples quickly filled the basket.

As the weight of the basket grew, Pete couldn't help but chuckle to himself. She hadn't asked for his help, exactly—she'd demanded it. But oddly, he didn't mind. Watching her work her way through the store with an almost military efficiency was oddly entertaining. More than that, there was something about being around her that felt… refreshing. He found himself smiling, the corners of his mouth tugging upward without even realizing it.

Between placing a jar of honey in the basket and turning down the next aisle, Pete's mind wandered. He wondered, not for the first time, why this variant of himself had ended up dating Elli instead of Popuri. Elli was sweet and steady, the kind of person who always had her life together, but there was something about Popuri's energy that stirred something inside him. She wasn't calm or composed like Elli—she was fiery, sharp, unpredictable. And yet, in this moment, she didn't seem difficult or intimidating. She seemed… fun.

At the register, Popuri pulled out a handful of coins and paid for the groceries while Pete balanced the full basket in his arms. As they stepped outside into the warm afternoon air, Pete adjusted his grip on the basket and followed her down the road back to the chicken ranch.

Popuri glanced over at him from the corner of her eye. "He really can be a nice person," she thought, watching as he kept pace with her, holding the groceries without a single complaint.

But then, as the thought settled, Popuri felt a sudden rush of heat creep into her cheeks. Her eyes widened, and she quickly turned her gaze back to the road ahead. "Wait… Is mom right? Do I like him?" The thought struck her like lightning, and she almost tripped in her tracks. She shook her head as if to clear it.

"No way," she muttered under her breath. She cast another glance at Pete, who was now distracted by the sound of a bird chirping from a nearby tree. "I don't even know him. We've been neighbors for years, and we just started talking. Besides, he's dating Elli. There is no way I'd stoop to Kai's level."

The thought clung to Popuri like a shadow, lingering just behind her eyes as they walked side by side. The space between them seemed to shrink with every step, though neither of them said much. Her cheeks still carried a faint heat, the echo of her earlier fluster. She kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, pretending to study the path, the shops, the clouds—anything but him. She prayed he wouldn't notice.

But Pete's voice broke through the silence, low and uncertain. "Hey, Popuri, can I ask you something?"

Popuri froze mid-step. Her pulse jumped, betraying her calm exterior. Was he about to say something ridiculous? Confess something? Her mind spun with possibilities, each more mortifying than the last. She turned her head slowly, her lips parting just enough to speak. "Yes, Pete?"

Pete hesitated, as though weighing his words. Then he drew in a breath, his brow furrowing with genuine concern rather than awkward tension. "What's up with Rick and Karen?"

Popuri blinked. Whatever she'd expected, it wasn't that. The knot in her chest loosened at once, replaced by mild confusion and a flicker of amusement. "Rick… and Karen?" she repeated, her tone a mix of surprise and disbelief as she searched his face for clues.

Instead of answering, Popuri slipped a hand into the pocket of her skirt. Her fingers brushed against something cold and smooth before she drew it out—a small, heart-shaped locket that glimmered softly in the Summer sun. Its surface, though worn with age, still caught the light in delicate flashes of gold. Without a word, she held it out to him, the chain dangling loosely between her fingers.

Pete blinked, momentarily thrown off by the gesture. Setting the basket down at his feet, he took the locket with care, as though it were something fragile, precious. When he clicked it open, the faint creak of the hinge sounded almost reverent.

Inside, two children smiled up at him from a faded photograph—Rick and Karen, no older than ten, their small hands clasped together, their faces alight with a joy so pure it almost hurt to look at. There was no tension there, no weariness or bitterness. Just sunlight, laughter, and the simple certainty that the world was good.

He closed the locket gently and looked up. "Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice quieter than before, the edge of curiosity softened by something more tender.

Popuri's arms folded across her chest as her gaze dropped to the ground. Her expression softened, a wistful smile flickering at the corner of her lips. "Mom made it for Rick when we were little," she said, her tone laced with memory. "It was supposed to remind him of Karen—back when they were still best friends. Before everything got… complicated."

"Complicated?" Pete looked up at her, brow furrowing. "What happened to them?"

Popuri exhaled softly, tucking a stray lock of pink hair behind her ear. The gesture was delicate, but her eyes carried the weight of old sadness. "Rick got busy with the chicken ranch after Dad left," she said quietly. "He had to grow up fast—too fast. Taking care of Mom, me, the business… it all just swallowed him whole. The ranch became his entire world."

Her gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the morning light shimmered across the rooftops of Mineral Town. "And Karen…" She hesitated, her voice softening. "She had her own troubles. The Supermarket, her parents, her father being… well, you know how Jeff is. He's gentle, but he doesn't always stand up for himself. Karen's been carrying that weight for years."

Popuri's voice trailed off, and for a moment the only sound was the whisper of the Summer breeze rustling through the trees.

"They just drifted apart," she said finally. "Then they had that fight and then they went their separate ways. Little by little, until one day, it was like they were strangers. And no one even noticed it was happening until it was too late."

Pete nodded slowly, closing the locket with care. The faint click seemed to echo louder than it should have. "Yeah," he murmured, his tone thoughtful. "I've heard bits and pieces about that. But it's sad. They looked so close." He paused, the weight of the locket in his hand feeling heavier than its size. "I was hoping there might be a way to bring them back together somehow."

Popuri tilted her head, surprised. "You want to help them?"

He gave a small, almost sheepish smile. "Maybe. You've known them forever—you must have some idea where to start."

Popuri frowned in thought, tapping a finger lightly against her lips. "It's not that simple, Pete. Rick's… stubborn. Once he's made up his mind, it's like trying to move a mountain. And Karen…" She paused, her expression softening. "She's been hurt before. She doesn't let people in easily anymore."

For a moment, her voice lingered in that quiet honesty. Then, a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "But," she added, mischief glinting in her pink eyes, "if you're really serious about helping, I might have a plan."

Pete tilted his head, intrigued. "A plan?"

Popuri leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as though she were sharing a dangerous secret. "Let's just say," she whispered, "if you're willing to get your hands a little dirty, I might know a way to nudge them in the right direction."

Pete's grin came easily. "I'm all ears. Just tell me what to do."

Popuri straightened, flipping her hair over her shoulder with mock pride. "Patience, Pete. I'll tell you when it's time for us to play Cupid."

Her tone was teasing, but beneath it was a spark of genuine excitement. As they gathered the groceries and stepped back into the road leading to the chicken ranch, the gentle hum of the town surrounded them—the chatter of shopkeepers, the rustle of Summer leaves, the distant call of gulls from the shore.

Pete found himself smiling without quite realizing it. The thought of helping Rick and Karen seemed noble enough, but it wasn't the mission that warmed his chest—it was the company. Popuri, with her fiery spirit and unpredictable charm, had a way of turning even the simplest errand into something that felt alive. And though he wouldn't dare admit it aloud, he was looking forward to whatever she had planned next.