Chapter Four: Painting the Sky
(Lyra's POV)
"So… we're really doing this?" I ask, clutching my phone as Soraya fires off texts like a general preparing for battle.
"Yes, ma'am," she says. "You said you needed help painting your room, and we, the loyal citizens of Saint Valley, are answering the call."
"I didn't ask for help," I remind her.
"You implied it," Saphira adds with a grin. "We're coming over Saturday. No take-backs."
And just like that, I find myself sending my new address to a group chat I never thought I'd be part of.
Saturday comes quicker than I expect.
Mom spends the whole morning making the place look "presentable" — lighting a candle, putting fruit on a plate like we're hosting royalty.
"You don't have to overdo it," I tell her, watching her adjust a vase for the third time.
"It's your first time having friends over, Lyra," she says, brushing her hands on her jeans. "Let me be excited."
Her smile is nervous, too — like she's trying to prove something. Maybe to herself. Maybe to me.
By noon, the doorbell rings, and chaos enters in the form of four people:
Soraya, Saphira, Cassian — and a girl I've never met, sharp-eyed and pretty in a quiet kind of way.
"You must be Lyra!" she says, voice warm but watchful. "I'm Aveline."
Her gaze flicks over me once, like she's reading a page. Then she smiles. "Sorry I missed you last week. Stupid flu."
"She's our protective mom-friend," Cassian teases, stepping in with paint cans.
"I prefer 'guardian angel,'" Aveline says dryly.
Mom appears behind me, and everyone straightens like they're meeting a headmistress.
"Oh! Hello, kids!" Mom says, suddenly formal. "I'm Ms. Solnne. Please, come in."
They do — and within minutes, my quiet house is filled with laughter, chatter, and the clatter of paint rollers.
We spread newspapers all over my bedroom floor. My walls are currently white — too clean, too empty.
"So what's the plan?" Soraya asks, pulling her hair into a bun.
"I haven't decided," I admit. "It's hard to choose when you don't know what feels right."
Aveline hums. "Then maybe it shouldn't be one color."
She gestures at the wall, eyes thoughtful. "We could make something… abstract. Everyone adds a piece. It'll be your story."
My chest tightens. "My story's messy."
"Messy's good," Saphira says softly. "Messy feels real."
And so we paint.
Cassian sketches faint outlines with a pencil, Soraya splashes blues and golds, Saphira adds flowers that look like they could bloom off the wall.
Aveline works in quiet precision — soft gradients of lavender and white.
I hesitate before picking up my brush, but once I start — I can't stop.
I paint a streak of orange across the center, fading into yellow like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Evan, who somehow ended up on ladder duty, adds a streak of midnight blue above it, and it blends too perfectly.
"Look," he says quietly, "day and night."
I meet his eyes — golden under the light.
"Guess they can exist together," I murmur.
"Guess so."
At some point, paint gets on my cheek. Then Soraya's. Then Saphira's. Then—
"Lyra started it!" Evan says, laughing as a splotch of blue lands on his shirt.
"You ducked!" I protest. "That wasn't my fault!"
"Uh-huh." He dips his brush and flicks a drop right onto my wrist.
I gasp. "You did not—"
Cassian: "Truce! Truce! Before Ms. Solnne finds out—"
"Finds out what?" Mom calls from the hallway, smiling when she sees us. "Ah. Never mind."
She looks around at the colorful chaos — at my walls now glowing in shades of hope — and something in her face softens.
"Lyra," she says quietly, "it's beautiful."
Her voice trembles a little, and I realize she's not just talking about the walls.
After everyone leaves — arms covered in dried paint, promises of "next weekend at Juniper Café!" echoing through the doorway — Mom stands by the door for a while, smiling at nothing.
"She seems really happy," she says finally, meaning me.
"She?" I tease.
"You know what I mean."
We share a laugh, and then she brushes my hair back, thumb resting lightly against my temple.
"You have no idea how good it feels to see you laughing again."
And just like that, the tightness in my chest eases.
For once, I don't feel like I'm holding the whole sky alone.
Later, as I clean up, I text Cassian:
Hey, you said you tutor at that café?
Clover's Café, right?
He replies almost instantly:
Yeah. Sundays. You thinking of joining?
Maybe. I kinda… need help with math.
Got it. I'll set you up. Bring your sketchbook — it's good luck.
I smile, setting my phone down beside a jar of paintbrushes.
The room smells like turpentine, laughter, and something new — the kind of scent that stays.
Maybe this town isn't just a fresh start.
Maybe it's a second chance.