The closer Elyon got, the more Seren felt something she wasn't used to:
Fear.
Not fear of him—but fear of letting someone in. Fear of being seen. Fear of depending on someone. Fear of accidentally hurting someone who was genuinely kind.
So when Elyon gently reached out one day and brushed a fallen leaf from her hair, Seren panicked.
"I—I have to go," she stammered.
Elyon froze, hand still suspended in the air. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," she whispered. "I'm the problem."
She turned and ran—into the woods, into the shadows, into her own confusion. She ran until her lungs burned, until her legs trembled, until she couldn't hear her own heartbeat over her fear.
Elyon did not chase her.
He only watched her disappear, hands clenched at his sides, expression unreadable.
And when the wind brushed past him, he whispered a promise no one heard:
"I can wait."
---