Chapter Ten — The Way the Sun Found Us
Lyra's POV
Sundays in Lumera always feel a little slower — like the whole city's still stretching after a dream.
The streets are softer, the air smells faintly of sugar from the bakery near Clover's Café, and the sunlight hits the glass buildings just right — golden, quiet, almost tender.
That's how the day felt.
Soft. Slow. Safe.
Evan had texted me early:
Evan: you free today?
Lyra: depends. is this an ambush or a date?
Evan: depends. would you say yes to either?
Lyra: maybe.
Evan: then it's a date. 1 p.m. don't be late, sol.
When I stepped outside, he was already there — leaning against his car, sunglasses on, holding two iced lattes.
"You're late," he said, grinning.
"I'm early."
"You're you, which means late in advance."
I swatted his arm and took the coffee. "Where are we going?"
He tilted his head toward the passenger door. "Surprise."
We ended up at the Lumera Botanical Gardens, one of those places you drive past a hundred times but never actually visit. The entrance was framed with glass arches and ivy climbing the metalwork, sunlight filtering through like liquid gold.
"This is where my mom used to bring me when I was a kid," he said as we walked in. "She said every plant had a secret language — you just had to listen long enough to hear it."
I smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "You've got a poetic side today, Vale."
"Maybe I'm just trying to impress the architect-in-training."
"You're doing fine."
We wandered through rows of lilies, orchids, and vines spilling over stone fountains. There was something unreal about it — like time forgot to move here.
He brushed his hand against mine. I let him.
By the time we reached the greenhouse dome, the sunlight had turned honey-warm.
A soft hum filled the air — bees somewhere in the distance, the faint rustle of leaves.
"Here," he said suddenly, tugging me toward a corner bench beneath a canopy of white blossoms.
"What?"
He smiled. "Close your eyes."
I laughed but obeyed. "If this is another one of your cheesy tricks—"
"Shh."
Something cool touched my wrist. When I opened my eyes, he was fastening a thin silver bracelet around it. Tiny charms dangled from it — a star, a bear, and a paintbrush.
"I know you wear your necklace every day," he said softly. "Thought it could use a little company."
I stared at it, speechless for a second. "It's beautiful."
"Now you've got two stars," he said, smiling. "One for your neck, one for your wrist."
My chest ached — the kind that isn't pain, just too much feeling in one place.
"Evan…"
"Don't say anything," he murmured. "Just—stay right here a little longer."
So we did.
We sat beneath that canopy while sunlight pooled between us. I traced the star charm with my fingers; he leaned his head on my shoulder.
And for that moment, everything felt infinite.
Like the world couldn't possibly turn wrong when it looked this right.
Later, when he dropped me off, he didn't let go of my hand immediately.
"Hey, Sol?"
"Yeah?"
"Next weekend. Don't make plans. I've got another surprise."
I smiled. "You're spoiling me."
"Get used to it."
And just like that, he was gone — car fading down the street, sunlight catching on the rearview mirror.
I stood there for a while, bracelet glinting, heart too full for words.
If I had known what was coming —
how close we were to the edge —
maybe I would've held his hand just a little tighter.
But I didn't.
Because right then, it still felt like forever.