Chapter 33 #3
And even surrounded by all that beauty, all that life, all that softness, the same thought pressed heavy against my ribs: This place was too pure for what took up space in my chest. But his hand stayed firm in mine, anchoring me beneath the falling petals, as if daring me to believe—even just for today—that I was allowed to stand here.
Dozens of notes hung from ribbons clinging to the branches. I reached up to trace my fingers over the crinkled parchment. Black ink told of hopes and dreams. Of love confessions and heartfelt words. It was mesmerising.
“Would you like to write something for the tree?” Nik asked beside me.
Around us, people were already doing it—laughing as they scribbled, whispering as they tied notes high or low, careless in the way only people without ghosts could be.
“I don’t know what I’d write,” I admitted. “Are you going to?”
He nodded as he squeezed my hand once, reassuring, and then released it. “I will if you will.” Before I could overthink it, he was gone, swallowed easily by the crowd, by the music and joy that accepted him without question.
I stood there for far too long before finally mustering up the courage to reach for paper and ink pens that scattered tall tabletops placed around the trunk of the tree.
All around me, words bloomed freely . . .
Forever. For her. I always choose you. Meet me here next year. The words were hopeful. Certain. Brave.
My hands shook as I stared at the blank page. I couldn’t write love. I couldn't write promises. I couldn't write anything that implied I was staying. Every word I tried to imagine felt like a lie waiting to punish me.
So I decided to write the only thing that felt true . . . the only thing that felt like an act of courage rather than a lie. I scratched the words out with trembling fingers, staring at them for a long moment while my heart pounded in my chest.
My fingers lingered on the knot of ribbon as I secured it to a branch, worried it would come undone if I wasn’t careful. I didn’t hide it, just placed it there where Nik would see it.
I turned around to find his eyes already on me. His smile was broad as he sauntered under the falling petals, closing the distance between us. “You did it.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
His hand found mine again, tugging me to the other side of the tree. “Now, you have to find mine.”
The thrill of discovery washed over me as we darted between notes and blossoms. “How will I know which one is yours?” I asked.
Nik leaned down to whisper in my ear. “You won’t miss it.”
With a light laugh that spilled from my lips, he guided me around the side of the trunk, and that’s when I saw it. Tied to a low-hanging branch was a single crimson feather, vivid against the pale petals. My mouth carved into a smile before I could stop it.
Of course he’d leave a feather.
I reached for the note with careful hands, untied the ribbon, and unfolded the paper. Let your head believe your heart.
Air punched out of my lungs as I stared at the words. My chest unfurled with that same ache that always lingered when I got too close to the light.
He knew. Somehow, impossibly, he knew the battle raging in my mind.
I looked up at him, my throat thick, petals drifting between us like falling breath. “Nik—”
He brushed his thumb over my cheek. “It’s okay. I don’t expect you to say anything right now.”
I hated the way his hand fit perfectly on my cheek. Hated how it felt so natural and I especially hated how I didn’t want him to let go.
“Seems only fair that I find yours now,” he whispered.
I nodded, my heart thudding far too loudly. Nik grinned and tugged me back towards the area I’d left my note. Heat flooded through my veins, making every nerve feel ablaze. What would he think when he read it? Would he look at me differently? Or would he understand why I’d hidden the truth.
He scanned ribbons, and scraps of paper, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he read other Lightners notes. His eyes passed over words meant for lovers who didn’t doubt themselves. But he didn't see it.
I watched his brow crease faintly, watched him circle the trunk once, then twice. “I don’t—” He stopped, confused now. “I can’t find it.”
“It’s there,” I said softly.
He turned back to me. “Where?”
I took a few slow steps towards my note, then reached up to tug on it. “This one.”
His gaze followed me, then he broke into a grin as he took it from its ribbon binds. Heaviness settled in my stomach as he quickly unfolded it. I should’ve stopped him. Told him it was a joke and I didn’t know what else to write.
But my hands wouldn’t move.
Nik read it once, his smile fading. Then he read it again.
Lucius seemed to hold its breath. Or maybe it was me. Either way, everything around me froze and I couldn’t breathe.
“My name is Blythe,” he read aloud, barely more than a whisper.
His emerald eyes glistened. But it wasn’t fear, or anger I saw there, it was something deeper that I couldn't name. “Blythe,” he repeated.
I didn’t look away . . . it was impossible.
Silence stretched between us as petals drifted, soft and soundless, settling on Nik’s shoulders, in his hair, on the note still clenched in his hand.
Slowly, he reached out his free hand and offered it to me. My brow pinched as I tried to read his face, but I took his hand anyway.
“Hello, Blythe,” he murmured. “I’m Nik.”