I See You'

It began with a soft knock and the creak of the door.Hana was arranging bundles of dried thyme when Ethan stepped into the shop. She could already tell it was him by the rhythm of his walk — calm, slightly heavy on the left. And by the warm smell of cedarwood and sun, always trailing faintly behind him.

"You sound like you're trying not to look suspicious," she said without turning around.

"I can't help it," Ethan replied. "I'm holding a basket. And I'm smiling too much. It's the universal posture of someone up to something."She turned toward him, amused. "Let me guess. Another trinket delivery from the lost-and-found?"

"Better," he said, setting the basket down with theatrical care. "I'm kidnapping you."She arched an eyebrow. "Temporarily," he added. "Voluntarily. Hopefully."

"…Still sounds illegal."

"I want to take you somewhere," he said. "It's just outside the village. Not far. There's this hill I like to visit. It's quiet. Breezy. The grass feels like clouds if clouds were a little pokier."

She paused, fingers gently tracing the edge of the counter. "I've never really left Elmsworth. Not past Mira's cart, at least."

"I know," he said gently. "That's why I asked. No pressure. I just thought you might like a change of air. And I brought snacks. Mediocre ones, but still."

She considered that for a moment. "What kind of snacks?"

"Sandwiches. Jam. One of them might be edible. Possibly both."

"Tempting."

"And," he added, "if you come along and decide you hate everything, I'll dramatically roll down the hill to express my guilt."

She smirked. "You really are committed to this."

"I am," he said. "And the weather's perfect for a mild emotional adventure."

She gave a quiet sigh — not of reluctance, but of soft agreement. "Alright. But you're carrying the basket. And if we get lost, I'm blaming you entirely."

"Fair. Though I have an excellent sense of direction — when I'm not distracted by snacks or thoughts."

---

The walk was slow and thoughtful.

Ethan described the way the path turned and narrowed, the feel of the grass against their legs, the occasional rustle of birds startled into flight. Hana moved with quiet grace, her cane sweeping in practiced motions. She walked beside him, sometimes lightly touching his arm for a cue, sometimes trusting the breeze and the sound of his steps to guide her.

"This is farther than I've ever been," she said as they left the last fence post behind.

"That's kind of the point," he replied.

After a few minutes, they reached the hill. Ethan spread the blanket on the grass and gently took her hand to help her down.

Hana touched the ground beside her, fingers brushing over soft grass and warm earth. "It feels open here," she said. "Still. Like everything's breathing a little slower."

He sat down beside her. "Exactly."

They ate in companionable silence — rough bread, slightly lumpy jam, and a wedge of cheese that may or may not have been meant for cooking. But she didn't mind. It was simple. Honest.

"You really packed this yourself?" she asked after the first bite.

"I did," he said proudly. "And no one's gone blind from it yet."

She chuckled softly. "You'll be pleased to know it's edible."

"High praise. I'll put it on my resume."

They rested with their backs against a half-sunken tree stump. The wind carried the faint scent of wildflowers and citrus, and Hana let her hand graze the air as if to catch the shape of it.

Ethan glanced sideways at her. "You always seem so... steady."

She tilted her head. "Do I?"

"Yeah," he said. "Like you've got everything in control. Like nothing throws you off balance."

"That's not always true," she said. "But when you live the way I do, people watch you. Closely. They want to see if you'll break."

"And you never do."

"Not in ways they understand."

He was quiet for a while.

Then, quietly, she added, "You're not what I expected."

Ethan turned his head toward her. "What did you expect?"

"Someone polite. Careful. The kind who talks slowly, or constantly offers to carry things."

He gave a soft laugh. "I thought about doing that."

"But you didn't," she said. "You just… let me move. Let me be."

"I think you're more capable than half the people in this village combined," he said.

"Careful. That sounds dangerously close to flattery."

"No flattery," he replied. "Just truth. And mild admiration."

She smiled, and this time, it lingered.

Their hands rested close, fingers barely brushing — not by accident, not quite intentional.

"You don't try to make me feel less blind," she said after a long silence.

"Should I?"

"No," she said. "That's what I like."

The wind picked up gently, rustling through the grass. Far below, the river moved like quiet breath.

"I think," Ethan said, "this is the first time since moving here that something feels… real. Like I'm not just passing through."

"You're not," she said. "You're here."

A moment passed.

He shifted his hand until it lightly touched hers — a question written in skin.

She didn't pull away.

And for a while, neither of them spoke. They just sat, pressed gently against the rest of the world, in a place that felt like it belonged only to them.