Chapter 5 — LUNA'S WARNING
The next morning, Elaris awoke under a silver mist. The city’s usual hum was softer, more thoughtful. Wynn’s Blossoms glowed like a little lantern at the corner of Crescent Street — warmth trapped in glass, petals pressed against rain.
Inside, Cathy Duke arranged fresh tulips, her movements calm and rhythmic. Every few seconds, her gaze flickered toward the door, as though expecting the bell to chime and reveal a certain familiar face.
But it didn’t.
Instead, Luna swept in — her hair a mess of curls, her scarf a splash of green against the fog. “I knew it,” she declared dramatically. “You’ve got that look again.”
Cathy blinked, fingers pausing mid-arrangement. She signed, What look?
“The one that says, ‘Someone’s been living rent-free in my head.’” Luna leaned against the counter, crossing her arms with mock sternness. “Don’t play innocent. I saw the way you were glowing yesterday. Who is he?”
Cathy tried not to smile, but failed. She reached for her notepad.
His name’s Adrian. He’s an architect. He brought flowers.
Luna gasped. “He brought flowers? To a florist? That’s bold.” She grinned. “So, what’s his deal? Handsome? Kind? Mysterious?”
Cathy wrote a single word:
Quiet.
Luna frowned. “Quiet? Like… you quiet?”
Cathy shook her head, smiling softly. Different kind. Gentle quiet.
Luna sighed theatrically. “You and your poetic types. Cathy, listen, I know that sparkle in your eyes — it’s been years since I’ve seen it. And I love it, I do. But just… go slow, okay?”
Cathy tilted her head, curious.
“Something about the way you described him,” Luna continued, pacing a little. “No one that put-together just wanders into Crescent Street out of nowhere. And architects?” She smirked. “They don’t usually hang out in flower shops unless there’s more to it.”
Cathy raised an eyebrow, signing quickly: You think too much.
Luna laughed, waving her hands. “Maybe. But someone has to think for you, Miss Romantic.”
Then her expression softened. “You’re just starting to heal, Cathy. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”
At the mention of again, Cathy’s fingers hesitated. Her chest tightened — faint memories flickering behind her eyes. A man’s shouting once, long ago; her voice freezing, vanishing. The silence that followed her ever since.
She blinked, forcing a smile.
I’ll be careful, she signed.
Luna watched her for a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied. “Good. Because if he breaks your heart, I’ll find him myself and—” She made a dramatic slashing motion across her throat.
Cathy giggled silently, shaking her head.
That evening, when the shop closed, Cathy wandered through Moonvale Park, sketchbook in hand. The rain had stopped, leaving the world glazed with dew. Streetlamps cast long reflections on the path, and the trees whispered with dripping leaves.
She sat beneath the gazebo, flipping open her sketchbook to a blank page.
Her pencil began to move — drawing his hands first. Strong, careful, always precise, as though every motion meant something. Then his eyes — steady and kind, but with a flicker of something buried deep.
She shaded softly, tracing the faintest smile.
“What are you drawing this time?”
Cathy’s heart leapt. She looked up. Adrian stood just beyond the light, hands in his pockets, raincoat half-buttoned. His expression held that same gentle warmth that seemed to fill the air around him.
She smiled, gesturing him closer.
He stepped into the gazebo, shaking his hair lightly. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I was just walking by. Habit, I guess.”
She turned her sketchbook toward him.
His breath caught. “You’re drawing me again?”
She nodded, cheeks warm.
He looked at the page for a long time, then murmured, “You make me look… like I belong somewhere.”
She tilted her head, confused.
He smiled faintly, as though brushing off the thought. “Never mind. It’s beautiful.”
Cathy wrote on her notepad:
I like when you visit.
He looked at her then — really looked. “I like being here. Around you, things feel… quieter. Honest.”
She blushed and ducked her gaze.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded sheet. “This is what I’ve been working on,” he said. “The new bridge design. I wanted to show you.”
She unfolded the blueprint — an elegant curve of steel and glass arching across the page like poetry in motion. Beneath it, his signature read Adrian Rivers.
Cathy traced the lines with her fingertips, mesmerized. Beautiful, she signed.
He smiled. “It’s inspired by you.”
Her eyes widened.
“You told me once that silence isn’t empty,” he said softly. “That thought stuck with me. So I designed a bridge that carries sound — but also absorbs it. It’ll be a place where people can hear the city breathe.”
Cathy pressed her hands to her chest.
He hesitated, voice quieter now. “You help me remember who I wanted to be before… all the noise.”
She didn’t understand what he meant, not fully. But she felt the weight in his tone — the sadness that lingered beneath his calm exterior.
So she wrote:
Then stay who you are now.
For the first time, Adrian Vale — the man who had spent years hiding behind false names and corporate shadows — smiled a true smile.
The architect’s smile.
Gentle. Unmasked. Human.
The next morning, Luna stopped by the shop again, frowning as she spotted the rolled blueprint on the counter. “What’s this?”
Cathy smiled and signed: Adrian’s work. He’s building a bridge.
Luna unfolded the paper, scanning the clean lines and professional signature. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Adrian Rivers, huh?” she murmured. “Funny… I swear I’ve heard that name before.”
Cathy didn’t notice her friend’s thoughtful expression as she rearranged the morning blooms. Outside, the sky cleared to a soft, pale blue, calm for now.
But Luna’s instincts lingered like a shadow on the edge of sunlight.
Because sometimes, the gentlest stories are the ones hiding the deepest secrets.
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