“Wanna go for a walk? I’ll show you something.”
They walked along the creek. A small California stream that dries up by August—but now, it gurgled—uncertain, like a child learning to speak.
Sunlight filtered through rosemary and sage. It touched their skin—not scorching, but like a butterfly’s wing. The air smelled of dust and salt.
He led her to a place he’d never shown anyone—his "secret place." A little nook between two slopes, with water murmuring below and a tree above that looked like an umbrella. He often sat there alone, drawing, dreaming. Now—they sat there together.
“Do you always draw?” she asked.
“Almost. Sometimes I just watch how things breathe.”
“Can you hear how light grows?”
He turned to her. She was staring ahead, where the sky met the sea.
Elias smiled. Slowly, like it was the most important thing he’d ever said.
“I think I can now.”
They sat in silence. A breeze played with her hair. His sketchbook lay open beside him—on a page where she sat beneath a tree, reading.
And then everything felt real: the sky, the sea, the ball, the silence. Something rang between them—like sunlight caught between palms.
And in that shimmering moment, a friendship was born. Maybe more.
The next morning came just as slowly. The world was damp with dew. Leaves gleamed like lacquer, and on Elias’s bedroom window, a tiny butterfly rested. It moved its wings as if breathing—and he felt he wanted to breathe the same way: softly, quietly, in rhythm with the world.
He took not only his sketchbook but also a jar of water, brushes, a few watercolors, and an old bandana—in case he had to sit in the sun for long.
This time, he stepped into the garden with confidence—as if someone was waiting.
Sophia was there.
She sat in the grass, three books around her like animals: one she petted, one she flipped through, one she simply watched.
She looked up and smiled—not the polite smile for strangers, but the kind your body already remembers.
“Wanna see?” she asked, nodding to the books.
“Only if you show me the one where the dragon lives,” Elias said seriously.
She laughed. The sound was like a crystal falling into water.
“And you?” she asked. “Are you drawing today?”
He sat beside her—not too close, not too far. The breeze smelled of lemon rind and wet soil. He opened his sketchbook and showed her the drawing from yesterday—where she sat beneath the tree.