Morning sunlight bathed the village, casting a warm glow on the cobblestone streets as Ava and Ethan walked toward the small shop at its heart. Ava's steps were lighter today, her face brighter, a quiet happiness softening the shadows beneath her eyes. The previous night—talking with the children, their wishes kindling joy—had eased her grief, though Mira's absence lingered like a soft bruise. Her dark hair swayed as she carried an empty basket. Ethan walked beside her, his leather jacket catching the light, his green eyes scanning the street but softening when they fell on her. Her spark stirred the pain he had felt for her, now laced with relief at her smile.
The shop was a cozy maze of shelves stocked with toys, books, and trinkets. Ava moved with purpose, her list in mind, selecting coloring books with animals for Sam, clay for arts, bright hair clips, a toy car, a puzzle, and a stuffed dog—each item a promise from the children's voices the night before. Ethan followed, grabbing a pack of crayons and a small kite, his hands full as Ava piled more into the basket, her enthusiasm infectious.
At the counter, the shopkeeper tallied the haul, bags rustling as the gifts stacked up. Ethan reached for his wallet, his voice firm. "I've got this."
Ava's hand shot out, stopping him, her eyes warm but resolute. "I will pay—it's my gift to the children."
Ethan raised a brow, a grin tugging at his lips. "Your gift? I'm the one who said we should do this."
She crossed her arms, a playful glint in her eyes. "And I'm the one making it happen. Let me do this for them."
He chuckled, leaning closer. "Stubborn, huh? All right—half and half. Fair?"
Ava tilted her head, considering, then nodded, her smile widening. "Fair." They split the cost, coins clinking, and left the shop, baskets overflowing with hope, their laughter trailing behind them.
Back at the orphanage, the common room hummed with excitement as Ava and Ethan set the gifts on a table. The children gathered, their eyes wide, their faces brighter than they had been since Mira's burial. Sam clutched his bunny, bouncing as Ava handed him a coloring book bursting with lions and giraffes. "For you," she said, ruffling his hair. A girl squealed, shaping clay into a wonky heart, while another clipped red hair clips into her braid, giggling. The boy with the toy car raced it across the floor, and puzzle pieces flew as kids teamed up, their chatter rising.
The sick children, nearly half recovered now, joined in, their rashes fading, their fevers low. Patel's words echoed in Ethan's mind—"their own willpower"—but a flicker of unease lingered, the Peirie's shadow too quiet. Today, though, joy reigned. The room burst with play, the children's laughter chasing grief away, a balm for all. Ava stood among them, her smile radiant, happiness blooming as she tossed a stuffed dog to a grinning boy. Ethan watched, his chest light, her warmth infectious.
The day unfolded in a whirl of games—tag in the yard, crayon masterpieces, clay sculptures piling up. By dusk, the children were tired but glowing, their sorrow forgotten in the moment's light. Ava felt it too, her heart full, Mira's memory now a gentle warmth rather than a wound.
As night fell, the clock struck seven, and a waxing gibbous moon hung low, silver light dusting the village. Ava stood atop a small hill near the orphanage, her silhouette framed against the sky. She wore a simple jacket, her dark hair dancing in the cold breeze, her eyes fixed on the stars and the moon, a calm smile curving her lips. The night's beauty held her, the breeze a soft caress, and she felt steady, her grief softened by the children's joy.
Ethan stepped out of the orphanage, expecting Ava inside, but the common room was quiet, the children asleep. A volunteer nodded toward the hill, and he walked out, his boots soft on the grass. He saw her then, alone under the moonlight, and paused, struck by how beautiful she looked—the breeze teasing her hair, her calm radiance outshining the stars. His breath caught, the pain for her shifting into something warmer, unspoken.
He climbed the hill, stopping beside her, his voice gentle. "Why are you standing here?"
Ava turned, her eyes glittering with childlike enthusiasm, a wide smile breaking free. "Ethen, see the moon, I love it Ethen, it simply makes me happy, it doesn't have any reason to make me happy still it makes me happy."
Ethan smiled, her words and the sparkle in her eyes stirring him, her childlike joy a light he hadn't expected. "Don't you feel scared, standing out here in the darkness?"
She tilted her head, unfazed. "Why should I be scared?"
He stepped closer, teasing. "So you're not scared of me?"
"For what?" she asked, a playful glint in her eyes.
He grinned, leaning in. "I'm a man, nighttime, a beautiful girl nearby—I might do something."
Ava smirked, her tone mocking. "Ok, if you wish, you go ahead. Not with me, do with your Claire and Tara."
Ethan leaned closer, staring deep into her eyes, his voice low and earnest. "At this night, I am captivated to you, only you, I don't want anyone else."
Ava froze for a second, caught in his words, her breath hitching as his gaze held her. Then, snapping back, she laughed, mockingly. "Ok, sir, arrange some huge hotel for me like Tara, I will come."
He grinned, his tone playful. "Ok, but you should wear a short, tight transparent dress for me."
Ava's eyes widened, a mock gasp escaping her. "Athen, you're right, staying with a handsome alone at night time is not good." With a teasing smirk, she turned and walked quickly toward the orphanage, her steps swift but light. Ethan laughed, watching her go, her silhouette fading into the night, the waxing gibbous moon casting a silver glow over her path.
To be continued....