The road stretched ahead of us, quiet and golden beneath the late morning sun. The carriage rolled steadily down the path, its interior warm and intimate, lined with velvet cushions and soft charm-lit lamps that flickered gently with each turn of the wheels. I sat across from Lillian, and for the first time in… maybe ever, I wasn't trying to look away.
She looked radiant—effortlessly so. Her pastel-pink hair was swept gently over one shoulder, and her usual shimmering presence was softened today by a serene smile and a more relaxed posture. She didn't try to close the distance between us. She didn't need to. Her presence filled the space, slow and graceful like sunlight through a glass window.
"Thank you," she said quietly, her fingers laced together on her lap.
I blinked. "For what?"
"For choosing this," Lillian replied, her gaze steady and sincere. "For choosing me."
I looked down at my hands. "I didn't… choose in the way you think I did. I'm still figuring everything out."
Her smile didn't waver. "That's okay. I'm not asking for your answer, Sera. Just… your time."
My heart fluttered, because that—I could give. That felt safe.
And, maybe, that was more intimate than anything else.
The estate she'd brought me to wasn't far from the academy, nestled just on the edge of the forest. A noble retreat—quiet, surrounded by gardens and flowering trees. The kind of place that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale, with its ivy-draped balconies and crystalline pond just beyond the veranda.
"This place is beautiful," I breathed as I stepped out of the carriage.
"It was my grandmother's," Lillian said as she joined me. "We used to visit in the summers. It's been empty for a while, but I thought…" She hesitated, then added more softly, "You'd like it."
She was right.
We walked together through the gardens first—simple, winding paths lined with soft blooms and stone lanterns that glowed faintly even in daylight. The wind whispered between the trees, carrying petals with it.
Lillian watched me as I looked around, and after a quiet pause, she said, "You look calm."
I turned to her, uncertain. "Do I not usually?"
"You always look alert," she replied, her voice tender. "Always a little braced. Like the world might pull the rug out from under you at any second."
My lips parted, surprised by how much truth there was in that.
"Today," she continued, "you're just you."
That made my throat tighten a little. I looked away, blinking at the sun. "I'm not used to being seen so clearly."
Lillian's hand brushed mine—soft, deliberate, not pushing. "Then let me keep looking."
My heart did a slow, aching flip.
We spent the day in small ways. Lunch beneath the wisteria canopy. Tea on the veranda. She showed me the library inside—quiet, full of old stories and poetry books. She let me read to her for a while, our shoulders pressed together, and her presence made the silence between words feel full rather than empty.
By the time the sky began to tint pink with evening, I found myself laughing more freely. Speaking without second-guessing every word. Letting go.
After dinner, we walked the garden again, this time under soft lights and moonlight.
She stopped at the pond's edge and looked over at me. "Would you hate me if I kissed you right now?"
My breath caught.
"I don't think I could," I said honestly, voice small.
Lillian stepped closer, slow, letting me pull away if I wanted to.
I didn't.
Her hand cupped my cheek, her thumb brushing gently beneath my eye. "You don't have to know what you feel," she whispered. "Just feel it."
And when she kissed me, it wasn't rushed or fiery.
It was warm.
Certain.
Like something blooming slowly inside of me.
When she pulled away, her forehead rested against mine. I didn't speak, afraid that anything I said would unravel the fragile, perfect quiet between us.
"I've wanted to do that for a long time," Lillian admitted, voice low.
I smiled. Just a little. "You've been very patient."
"I knew you'd get here eventually," she whispered.
And, maybe—I finally had.
Because I wasn't thinking about the past.
I wasn't thinking about what came next.
I was just here.
With her.
And that was more than enough.
The night deepened around us, wrapping the garden in a hush that felt both sacred and delicate. The stars blinked above in soft patterns, and the lanterns flickered gently as if they too were holding their breath.
Lillian still stood close, her forehead barely grazing mine, her fingers warm against my cheek. Neither of us moved for a while. We didn't need to. The silence was full—of everything we hadn't said and everything we didn't need to say right now.
Eventually, I stepped back, not to retreat, but to breathe.
My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was echoing through my ribs. But I didn't look away from her.
"That wasn't… just a spur-of-the-moment thing, was it?" I asked quietly.
"No," Lillian said. Her voice was as soft as a sigh, but there was no hesitation in it. "It wasn't."
I nodded slowly. "Good."
She smiled again—gentle, proud, like I'd just passed some unspoken test. "Was that your way of saying you didn't hate it?"
I huffed, looking away quickly as heat rose to my cheeks. "I didn't say that either!"
"So… a maybe," she teased, her voice playful now, but softer than her usual flirtation. "Well, that's progress."
"Lillian."
"Yes?"
"I… liked it," I muttered, voice barely above a whisper.
Her eyes widened slightly, and then her smile turned luminous—like moonlight kissed the corners of her lips. "That makes me incredibly happy."
The rest of the night passed gently. We returned inside, but neither of us spoke much. She handed me a book when we reached the drawing room, and I curled up on the chaise lounge beside the fire while she poured tea.
There were no declarations, no pressure. Just quiet.
By the time she led me to the guest room, the warmth of the day lingered in my chest like a second heartbeat. She stood at the door, hesitant, her hand lightly resting on the frame.
"Goodnight, Sera," she said.
I looked up at her, still curled under the covers, the soft glow of the lamp casting a halo across her hair. "Goodnight."
She turned as if to leave, and then—almost shyly—turned back.
"Can I… hold your hand for a bit?"
I blinked. "Here? Now?"
She nodded, her voice gentle. "Just until you fall asleep."
My throat went tight again, but I found myself reaching out without really thinking. "Okay."
She stepped closer, sitting on the edge of the bed and intertwining her fingers with mine. Her hand was warm and delicate, but steady. Like always.
"I don't want you to be alone with all this," she said after a moment. "Whatever you feel. However complicated it is. Let me be with you in it."
I squeezed her hand gently. "I want that too."
We sat there in the quiet, her thumb brushing slow circles across my knuckles. Eventually, my eyes began to close.
And the last thing I felt before I drifted off was her touch, and the safety of her presence beside me.
Not as a heroine from a book.
But as someone real.
Someone I cared about.
When I woke the next morning, she was gone—but a soft pink flower had been left on the pillow beside me.
A note tucked beneath it read:
"I'm here. Whenever you're ready." —Lillian
I held it to my chest for a long time before I finally got up.
Because I knew—
this wasn't the end of anything.
It was the beginning.
The carriage ride back to the academy was quiet—but not uncomfortable. Lillian sat beside me this time, our shoulders occasionally brushing as the road gently curved. Neither of us said much. We didn't need to.
The silence was different now.
Not the kind that left things unsaid.
But the kind that felt full of things understood.
I kept my fingers folded in my lap, the soft flower she'd given me tucked safely between pages in my notebook. Every now and then, I'd glance her way, and find her already looking at me, that same gentle smile on her lips—the one that didn't demand anything, only offered something steady.
By the time we reached the academy gates, the sun was dipping low, casting the grounds in the soft gold of early evening. Students wandered about, laughing, exchanging books, sneaking in snacks before curfew. The normal buzz of school life resumed like nothing had changed.
But I had changed.
And as Lillian helped me down from the carriage with all the grace of a noblewoman raised to make everything look effortless, I realized that something in me had finally settled.
I wanted this.
Not just with her—but all of them. I wanted their presence, their chaos, their support, their affection. I wanted the confusing, beautiful mess of it all.
The idea still scared me.
But the fear didn't outweigh the warmth anymore.
"See you in the garden tomorrow?" Lillian asked, her voice low as we stood beside the carriage.
I nodded. "Yeah. Definitely."
She gave my hand one last soft squeeze before turning and walking back toward her dorm, skirts swaying like a curtain closing on the final scene of a play. I watched her go until I heard another voice behind me.
"Back already?" Diana.
Of course.
I turned to find her leaning casually against the outer gate wall, arms crossed, that smirk of hers tugging just slightly at the corners of her lips.
"I didn't know you'd be waiting," I said.
"I wasn't," she said, straightening. "I was walking back from the infirmary. Student Council duties."
But she was already too close for that to be casual.
"Did you have a good time?" she asked, her eyes catching mine with that sharp, playful glint.
I hesitated. "Yes."
"No regrets?"
I blinked. "Should I have any?"
Diana smiled—softer than usual. "Not at all. You deserve happiness."
That made my chest tighten.
"I wasn't sure you'd come back the same," she added after a moment.
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," she said, stepping closer, "you're already easy to love. I was worried a weekend alone with Lillian would make it harder for the rest of us to keep up."
I flushed hard. "You're all ridiculous."
"Only about you," Diana said.
And before I could recover, she leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear.
Then she stepped back like nothing had happened. "Welcome back, Sera."
By the time I entered my dorm room, it was already dim. Camille's script was lying on my desk—she must've dropped it off while I was gone. Claire had left a half-unwrapped chocolate bar on my pillow with a note that said, "Missed you! Let's sneak out tonight? I found something fun."
And by the window, Tessa's gift waited: a new flower planted quietly in the pot she'd brought to the Gardening Club a week ago. This one had small white petals. A note was folded beside it.
"No words today. Just wanted you to come home to something blooming."
I stood there for a while, heart full, throat tight, just staring at all of it.
They didn't ask questions.
They didn't demand answers.
They just… made space for me.
And maybe, that was why I couldn't choose yet.
Because every one of them had given me something real. Something different. Something necessary.
And even if I was still afraid of hurting them… I finally understood I didn't have to do this alone.
Not anymore.
Not when love—messy, flawed, and overwhelming—was being offered to me so freely.
And for once?
I was ready to hold it.