We had long since returned to our estate, leaving behind the whirlwind of voices, emotions, and revetions that earlier hours had stirred. Now, quiet wrapped around me like a second skin. I sat alone in my room, the half-finished embroidery resting in my p—forgotten. Outside, the gauzy curtains danced in the breeze, each flutter a whisper from a world I was still learning to belong to.

  I had chosen this life—this world. Not as a fleeting guest, but as someone willing to stay and grow roots. Still, a small fear lingered at the edge of my thoughts: that in surrendering to this path, I might lose myself again. That I might become something too sculpted by expectation, too polished by duty, until the core of who I was slipped quietly away.

  But I couldn’t ignore the responsibilities that came with my name. They were no longer just stories or distant shadows—I could feel them drawing closer, more real with every passing day. And maybe… I didn’t mind. My parents gave me their love without conditions, unwavering in their faith in me. For the first time in either of my lives, I wanted to rise to meet that love. To become someone worthy of it. Someone they could proudly call their daughter.

  That desire—quiet and steady—was something I could live for.

  My thoughts shifted again, this time to the coming Season.

  It had always felt like it belonged to someone else. To the older girls in the capital with their gemstone combs and effortless grace. Their practiced smiles. Their elegance born of generations. I had watched from afar, never imagining that one day, the tide would begin to p at my own feet.

  A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.

  “Come in.”

  Mother stepped inside, wrapped in her night robe. Her hair was brushed and left loose, cascading over her shoulders like a silken curtain. In the flicker of candlelight, she looked almost younger—bathed in a kind of peace that made the world outside feel far away.

  “I had a feeling you’d still be up,” she said gently, moving toward me before settling on the edge of the window seat.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” I murmured.

  She gave a knowing smile. “Too many thoughts to hush?”

  I nodded.

  We sat in silence, listening to the wind as it rustled through the magnolia trees beyond the gss. It was a comforting sound. Familiar. Like something from a dream.

  “You know,” she said softly, “the Season always seems far off—until suddenly, it isn’t. One moment it’s just harmless chatter over tea… then the invitations arrive, and with them, the expectations. The eyes.”

  There was no edge in her voice. Only memory. And something quieter—wistfulness, perhaps.

  “Do you miss it?” I asked.

  She was quiet for a moment. Then she let out a breath, slow and thoughtful. “Sometimes. There’s a wonder in being young, admired, at the center of it all. But I wouldn’t trade those days for what I have now. I had my moment. Yours will come, in time.”

  I gnced down at the embroidery still in my p. The simple apple outline waited there, untouched—a small beginning I hadn’t had the courage to finish.

  “I’m not ready,” I said, barely above a whisper.

  “No one ever is,” she replied. “But we learn to move anyway. We all pretend.”

  I looked up at her. Her eyes met mine with a smile—gentle, certain, and full of faith. Not in what I was, but in what I would become.

  “You don’t have to rush toward anything, Nia,” she said, smiling. “But when the time comes… you’ll be ready. You were born to find your own rhythm. And when you do, it will be beautiful.”

  She leaned in and pressed a kiss to the crown of my head before rising.

  “Get some rest, darling,” she whispered softly. “Everything will be alright.”

  Then she left, the door closing softly behind her.

  I remained there, still as a shadow, watching the flicker of candlelight cast long shapes across the floor. My thoughts turned over slowly, like pages in a story not yet finished.

  The Season was coming.

  I didn’t know what it would bring.

  But deep down, I knew—once it began, the girl I was now would never return unchanged.

  And maybe… that wasn’t something to fear.

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