The morning air in Elmsworth was unusually crisp, the kind that made windows fog from fresh bread steam and caused laundry to flap more stubbornly on their lines. But beneath the surface calm of the village, something had shifted.
A quiet shift.
People looked longer. Spoke shorter. And when Hana passed, greetings were often replaced with hesitations, and doors that once opened wide now opened with caution.
She noticed.
So did Ethan.
Though nothing had been said directly to either of them, Elmsworth had started whispering. The village, for all its charm, was still small enough that secrets had a short shelf life and Jonas had never been one to let things go.
It started with a smirk. A sideways comment at the well. A muttered joke in the market.
"He's still in the village, is he?"
"Spending nights in blind girls' homes, is he?"
Some laughed. Some didn't.
And some believed.
One by one, the tension bloomed subtle but steady like smoke curling under a door.
That morning, as Hana swept the front step of her shop, a familiar voice called out.
"Hana!"
She turned her head, and the tapping of small shoes approached.
"Avery," she smiled, already recognizing the confident rhythm.
The thirteen-year-old stopped in front of her with a small stack of books. She wore a blue ribbon in her hair and carried herself with the kind of fire reserved for the young and the certain.
"I brought these. One's poetry. One's about a knight who loses his sword but still saves the day. And this one," she said proudly, "Caraval. It's my favorite. I thought you might like it."
"How fitting," Hana murmured.
Avery smiled brighter. "They're all in braille. I had to ask around for them, but there's this traveling seller who comes through twice a year. I thought... well, you should get to read your own favorite stories, too."
Hana reached out, fingers brushing the embossed cover. "That's incredibly thoughtful, Avery. Thank you."
The girl hesitated, then added with a hopeful shrug, "Or maybe Ethan could read one to you sometime. He has the voice for it. I've heard him reading out loud like someone who actually cares what the words mean."
"Also," Avery said, stepping closer, "ignore the way Mrs. Harrow keeps looking at you like you stole the church bell. She's just mad her husband asked where Ethan got his jacket."
Hana laughed softly but truly.
"That's alright," she said with a small grin. "I'm blind, remember? I can't see her glare."
She paused, then added with mock curiosity, "Was it the one with the torn sleeve or the stitched cuff?"
Avery grinned. "The stitched cuff. Definitely. I think that's the one that makes him look like he walked out of a mystery novel."
They both snickered
Avery then said.
"Oh and did you know my brother Oliver said he saw Ethan carry you the other night, he said it was raining hard and Ethan looked like one of those storybook rescuers."
"Oh did he now?" Hana asked, lifting a brow.
Avery nodded, lowering her voice to a whisper. "He thinks that makes Ethan a hero."
Hana smiled again. "He might be onto something."
Avery beamed, then added, "I think you two are a good story. Don't let boring people rewrite it."
Before Hana could respond, the girl was already turning back toward the street, her ribbon bouncing behind her.
Morning, Ethan!" Avery called as she rushed past him on the road.
Ethan glanced over his shoulder with a small smile. "Morning, Avery. Running late to charm the world?"
Her laughter echoed behind her as she vanished around the corner.
Hana was still outside, standing by the front steps, broom leaning against the wall. She tilted her head at Ethan's approach.
He paused a moment, then smiled. "Busy morning?"
She returned it. "Only slightly less dramatic than yesterday."
Ethan chuckled and held up the bundle of herbs. "Delivery from Mira and, apparently, a side of butcher gossip."
Hana sighed. "They're not subtle."
"No," he agreed. "But I've been through worse."
He didn't say it bitterly. Just factually. But Hana could hear the fatigue beneath it.
That afternoon, a new pair of customers entered strangers to Ethan, but not to Hana. Marlin and Edra, twins in their late thirties, who ran the candle stall near the schoolhouse.
"Afternoon," Marlin said coolly, as Edra eyed Ethan with a deliberate once-over.
"Hello," Hana greeted, polite but guarded.
"We heard the weather brought some people closer together," Edra said, as she picked up a jar of balm. "Funny how a change in the air does that."
Ethan glanced at Hana, waiting.
Hana didn't flinch. "Shifts in the wind bring out truth. Not always kindness."
The siblings exchanged a glance.
"Well," Marlin said, dropping a coin on the counter, "just hope the truth doesn't ruin your little shop, Hana."
And then they left.
Hana's jaw tightened.
That evening, as Ethan helped stack dried lavender bundles, he said quietly, "It's getting worse."
"They've chosen a version of the story," she said.
"And Jonas wrote it."
He nodded.
She stopped moving.
"I hate that they're listening to him," she admitted.
Ethan had never heard that tone from her before. Not sorrow. Not grace.
Anger.
Measured. Deep.
Powerful.
"It's okay to be mad," Ethan said.
"I know," she whispered. "But it changes things."
Later that week, as Ethan stepped into the backroom of the train depot where he worked, his supervisor Noel pulled him aside with a folded note in hand.
"We got word from the mayor's assistant," Noel said. "About the 'situation' around your… involvement with a certain shopkeeper."
Ethan's stomach dropped. His jaw tensed.
"It's not illegal," Noel added quickly, "but this town likes things quiet. Professional. You get another complaint, I might have to shift your hours. Or cut them."
Ethan frowned. "So being decent is now a liability?"
Noel raised a brow. "Come on, Ethan. You're new here. They don't like disruption even if it's only gossip. Especially if it's gossip."
"And what exactly am I doing wrong?" Ethan asked, his voice low. Calm, but sharp.
Noel sighed. "You're not doing anything. But perception matters. They think you're too involved. Too visible."
Ethan folded the note carefully. "I'm not going to stop helping her. If that costs me hours, say it plainly."
Noel paused. "Just... keep your head down. That's all I'm saying."
Ethan didn't respond. He simply tucked the note into his pocket and walked back to his post.
On Ethan's Way Back to the Shop That Evening
The sun had nearly disappeared behind the hills when Ethan left the depot. His mind buzzed with the earlier conversation with his supervisor, but the street ahead was quiet..., too quiet.
Until it wasn't.
He heard them before he saw them. Laughter. Heavy boots. A whistle that didn't sound friendly.
As he rounded the corner near the old grain shed, three men leaned against a fencepost and one of them stepped forward.
Jonas.
Of course.
"Well, well. The stray wanders back," Jonas said, arms folded.
Ethan kept walking.
But Jonas wasn't done.
"You've gotten awfully comfortable, haven't you?" he said louder. "Little too close to something that doesn't belong to you."
Ethan stopped. Turned. "I'm sorry are you saying Hana belongs to someone?"
One of the other men a thick-shouldered butcher's son named Cal let out a dry laugh. "He's saying she's spoken for. Or did that escape your city manners?"
Jonas stepped closer, his smirk tightening. "You don't belong here, Ethan. You think you do because you help in a shop and carry firewood like some noble romantic, but you're not part of this village. Not really."
"I didn't realize this village belonged to you," Ethan said, keeping his tone flat, measured.
"You didn't need to. Everyone else already knows it."
Ethan clenched his jaw. "You don't scare me."
"You should be scared," said the third man a wiry one named Marko who rarely spoke unless backed by others. "People here take care of their own. Outsiders don't last. Not when they mess with what isn't theirs."
Jonas leaned in, just enough to make Ethan see the heat in his eyes. "She's mine. She always has been. We grew up together. I was there. Where were you, huh? Rolling through towns like a shadow looking for pity?"
Ethan's fists tightened at his sides. "She's not yours. She never was."
Jonas' smile thinned to something uglier. "Leave, Ethan. Before this place pushes you out in ways you won't like. You've had your fun."
The other two flanked Jonas now, not touching Ethan, but close. Close enough.
Ethan stared at all three of them, unblinking.
Then he turned his back and walked away.
Not because he was afraid but because Hana was waiting.
And she was the only voice in this place that mattered.
Back at the shop, he said nothing about the warnings and the confrontation from Jonas. Instead, he repaired the herb drawers. Polished the bell above the door. Helped Hana with anything she asked.
But that night, as the lamps dimmed and Hana sat on the wooden stool beside the counter, she finally asked:
"Why haven't you left?"
Ethan paused. "Do you want me to?"
"No," she said. "I just… I know it's easier if you do."
He stepped closer.
"You're not a place I passed through, Hana," he said. "You're the reason I stopped."
And she felt it, in her chest, in the silence between them.