The morning came slow, as if even the sun hesitated to rise. Pale light touched the edges of the fields, spreading across the quiet rooftops of the village. Dew still clung to the blades of grass, glittering faintly like a thousand little tears. The air carried that familiar mix of wood smoke, hay, and something sweet from the trees near the old well.
For Yuni, it was supposed to be a normal morning—but nothing felt normal anymore.
Her exams had ended two days ago. No more waking early for school, no more last-minute revising with Aeris under the neem tree. Instead, there was a stillness that felt strange. Her heart knew why: this was their last morning before everything changed.
She sat by the kitchen door, watching her mother pour tea into clay cups. The faint clink of metal spoons against the cups sounded sharper than usual. Aeris sat beside her, stretching her arms lazily but glancing every so often toward the stable.
"Can you believe it's over?" Aeris asked softly. "Exams, school… everything."
Yuni smiled faintly. "Feels like it went too fast. I kept thinking I'd have more time to say goodbye to everything."
"Hmm," Aeris hummed, pulling her knees to her chest. "You and your goodbyes."
Yuni didn't argue. Goodbyes were important to her—because she always gave her heart to people, places, and even animals.
Her father stepped outside, adjusting his shawl. "The traders will be here by noon," he said, his voice steady. "We'll finish with them today."
Yuni's stomach tightened. She looked toward the stable, where Lili's gentle mooing carried softly through the air. "Today?"
Her father nodded. "It's time, Yuni. We can't take them with us."
Aeris reached out, touching Yuni's shoulder. "We'll say a proper goodbye."
The morning moved slower than usual, every hour stretching longer, heavier. Yuni went to the stable after breakfast. The animals seemed to sense the change.
Lili lifted her head as Yuni entered, her soft brown eyes reflecting quiet warmth. Yuni ran her fingers through the cow's fur, feeling the warmth beneath her skin.
"Hey, Lili," Yuni whispered. "They're taking you today."
always were the calm one," she continued. "When the goats used to fight, you'd just stand there and watch. You probably think we're all silly for being sad."
Lili brushed her head against Yuni's arm as if to answer.
Aeris joined her, holding a small basket of feed. "Here," she said, handing Yuni a handful. "Let's give her her favorite treat one last time."
The two girls laughed softly as Lili's long tongue brushed their palms. Then they moved to the goats. One was tugging at Aeris's braid while another tried to nibble Yuni's sleeve.
"Even now you can't behave," Aeris said, laughing through his tears.
"They'll miss you," Yuni said.
"No," Aeris shook his head, "we'll miss them more."
They stayed there for hours—talking, brushing, feeding, even singing quietly to the animals. When the traders finally arrived, the sound of the wooden cart wheels crunching against the dirt made Yuni's heart skip.
The traders were kind men—sun-browned faces, patient voices. They greeted Yuni's father respectfully, bowing slightly before getting to work.
Yuni and Aeris stood near the stable as the men began checking the animals. The girls watched in silence as ropes were gently tied, voices murmuring.
ood animals," one trader said. "Healthy, strong. You've cared for them well."
Yuni's father smiled faintly. "They're part of our family."
That word—family—hung in the air like a prayer.
As the men guided the goats onto the cart, Yuni's heart pounded. Lili was last. She resisted for a moment, not in fear but as though she, too, wanted one more moment.
Yuni moved forward, stroking her head. "It's okay, girl," she whispered. "Go on. Be good."
A tear slipped down her cheek. Aeris reached for her hand again. "You did good, Yuni."
The cart began to move, wheels creaking slowly, the rhythmic sound echoing down the lane. Dust rose behind it, and as it faded from sight, it felt like a piece of their world went with it.
The rest of the day was filled with the sound of packing. Wooden boxes thumped shut. Clothes were folded neatly. Dishes were wrapped in old newspapers. Yuni's mother moved from one room to another, giving quiet instructions.
"Keep this with care, Yuni. We'll need it in the city," she said, handing her a small tin box of spices.
Her father stacked books and documents carefully into a bag. Aeris folded the bedsheets and tied them together with twine.
They worked in silence, each person lost in their thoughts. The walls seemed to echo with the sounds of the past—the laughter, the chatter, the small quarrels and the songs sung on rainy evenings.
At noon, the sky grew brighter. Children ran past outside, shouting as they played. Yuni looked out through the doorway and smiled faintly. It was strange—how the world kept moving even when your own was changing completely.
As the sun dipped lower, villagers began stopping by to say goodbye.
An elderly neighbor from next door brought a pot of sweet rice. "For your journey," she said, her wrinkled hand trembling slightly as she placed it on the table. "And for luck."
Yuni hugged her tightly. "Thank you."
The headmaster from school came too, smiling warmly at Aeris and Yuni. "You both did well in your exams," he said. "You'll shine wherever you go."
"Will you tell the juniors not to forget us?" Aeris asked, half-teasing.
The headmaster chuckled. "Forget? Impossible. Who could forget the two girls who argued with every teacher and still topped their papers?"
That made everyone laugh, and for a brief moment, the sadness lifted.
Then came their friends—small groups of classmates, neighbors, even the grocer's son who once shared his mangoes with them. They gave hugs, laughter, and promises to write letters.
Yuni tried to memorize every voice, every face.
By the time evening came, the sky had turned into a painting—orange melting into purple, then deep blue. The bus waited by the banyan tree at the edge of the road, its headlights glowing softly in the dusk.
Yuni stood at the gate, her heart thudding so loudly it felt like the whole village could hear it.
Her mother locked the door behind them and pressed her palm against the wooden frame one last time. "Thank you," she whispered quietly to the house.
Aeris looked around, eyes glassy. "I didn't think it would hurt this much," he said.
"Neither did I," Yuni admitted.
Their father loaded the bags onto the bus. "Come, girls," he called gently. "It's time."
Yuni turned one last time. The fields stretched endlessly behind the house, golden under the last light. The neem tree swayed softly, and a faint breeze carried the smell of hay and flowers. Somewhere far, a cow mooed, and Yuni thought she could hear Lili's voice in it.
She pressed her hands together, bowing her head for a moment. "Goodbye," she whispered. "Thank you for everything."
Aeris took her hand, and together they climbed aboard.
The bus shuddered to life, its rumbling echoing through the quiet lanes. The villagers waved until the bus turned past the last curve.
Yuni sat by the window, forehead resting against the cool glass. The world outside moved slowly—houses, trees, wells, fading into the darkness. Tiny lights blinked from distant huts, like fireflies against the growing night.
Her father and mother spoke softly to each other. Aeris leaned against her shoulder, silent, watching the same fading horizon.
"Do you think it'll be strange there?" Aeris asked after a while. "The city?"
"Probably," Yuni said with a small smile. "No mud walls, no open fields… just lights and noise."
"But maybe," Aeris said, "there'll be new things to love."
Yuni nodded. "Yes. Maybe."
The road stretched endlessly ahead, winding through forests and small towns. The stars above followed them faithfully, like old friends keeping watch.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional bark of a dog in the distance. Yuni's thoughts wandered—to Lili, to the goats, to the neighbor's kind smile. Every memory felt alive, as if stitched into the very fabric of who she was.
She didn't know what waited ahead—but she knew she carried enough love from her village to guide her wherever she went.
The bus finally slowed near dawn. The first light of morning painted the sky pink and gold. A distant skyline shimmered ahead—tall buildings rising like mountains of glass and steel.
"That's it," her father said softly. "The city."
Yuni stared out, eyes wide. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.
The smell of smoke, metal, and spice drifted in as the bus rolled through the crowded streets. The noise of engines, horns, and footsteps filled the air—a rhythm so different from the calm heartbeat of the village.
She felt Aeris grip her hand. "New beginnings," Aeris whispered.
Yuni smiled faintly, though her eyes still carried the softness of home. "New beginnings," she echoed.
And in the quiet corners of her heart, beneath all the excitement and fear, she felt something stir—something brave and gentle, like the first bloom of spring.
The bus came to a stop. Her father turned and smiled. "We're here."
Yuni took one last look at the dawn-lit city. It glowed like a dream waiting to unfold. She closed her eyes for a moment and whispered, "I'll make you proud, home."
And as she stepped off the bus, the world before her opened wide, full of promise, memories, and the sound of her own heartbeat calling her forward. 🌌💫
🖤🖤🖤
That's the end of Chapter 7! ✨The journey begins—a new city, a new life, but the heart of the village still beats within her. As I read this, tears welled up in my eyes, carrying the quiet ache of every goodbye, the warmth of every memory, and the gentle hope of everything yet to come. What do you think awaits Yuni and Aeris next? Share your thoughts in the comments 💬🌿