A Collection of Inner Thoughts

The center of the town was built around a park.

At ten in the morning on a Friday, it was already alive.

The park stretched wide, about three hectares of open space shaped more by time than by design. Old trees stood tall across it, their trunks thick, their branches spread wide as if they had long claimed the sky. Sunlight slipped through the leaves in uneven patches, falling over grass that wasn’t perfectly trimmed, over bushes that grew where they pleased, and over wildflowers that appeared in small bursts of color.

Near the middle, a small lagoon rested quietly. Its surface held the reflection of the trees above, only breaking when the wind passed or when something moved beneath, small fish cutting through the water, quick and easy.

Around the park, the town moved in its usual rhythm.

On the north side, the city hall stood steady, its steps busy with people going in and out, some holding folders, others checking their watches, a few lingering near the entrance as if deciding whether to go in at all. Above it, the country’s flag moved with the wind, rising and falling in slow, steady waves.

Just to the east, the post office carried on with its morning routine. A delivery truck stood parked out front, its back doors open. A man inside passed down parcels one by one while another stacked them onto a trolley, building a careful pile.

Across the park, on the eastern side, the sports ground and playground were alive in a different way. A few kids rolled past on skateboards, their wheels scraping lightly against the pavement. Some students sat along the edge, talking, laughing, passing a bottle between them. Someone tried a trick, missed, and laughed it off as his friends called out to him.

On the west side, the church faced the park, its doors open. A few people stepped out quietly, while others walked in, their pace slower, their voices softer.

And from the south, through the north gate of the city college, students moved in and out in small groups. Some carried folded tables, others boxes filled with supplies, fabric, wires, tools, pieces of something still being put together. Their voices carried across the park, light, busy, excited.

The festival was beginning.

Booths were being set up along the paths, some already standing, others still halfway done. Decorations were tied carefully onto branches, nothing forced, nothing that would disturb the birds above.

Life didn’t stop for it. It simply moved around it.

A man walked his dog along one of the paths, the leash loose as the dog paused every few steps. On a nearby bench, a woman sat with her legs crossed, her eyes fixed on her phone, untouched by the growing noise around her.

Everything existed at once, the quiet, the movement, the waiting, the beginning.

And just across from the church, Tali and Blake stepped out into it.

Tali adjusted the sleeve of her blouse, then smoothed it again, even though it didn’t need fixing. She glanced back at the church doors for a second longer than necessary.

“October’s fully booked,” she said. “But they still have a few slots in November.”

Blake didn’t answer right away.

He was already on his phone.

Tali watched his thumb move across the screen. Quick. Familiar.

“Blake?”

“Hmm?” he said, eyes still down.

She waited.

“November,” she repeated. “What do you think?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Too fast.

Tali nodded anyway. “Okay… but which date works for you? They said weekends fill up first.”

“Any weekend. Just pick one.”

She hesitated. “You don’t want to check your schedule?”

“It’s fine. I’ll make it work.”

It should have sounded reassuring.

Before she could say anything else, a group of girls passed by them, heading toward the park, their voices bright and overlapping.

“I swear, he smiled at you.”

“No, he didn’t,” one of them said, but she was already laughing.

“He did,” another insisted. “Don’t act like you didn’t see it.”

“Stop, you’re so annoying.”

“I’m serious! That was him.”

“Who?” one asked.

“Isagani. From the band.”

“Ohh, the one performing tonight?”

“Yeah, guitarist and vocalist,” someone added. “They’re playing all three nights.”

“Wait, why does he seem so chill though?” one of them said. “Like he just walked past, smiled, and that’s it.”

“Because this isn’t even his main thing,” another replied. “He actually has, like, a real job.”

“Shut up, really?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what exactly, but it’s something serious. This is just his side thing.”

“That’s so unfair,” one said, laughing. “You don’t get to be talented and stable.”

“Exactly. Pick a struggle.”

“Oh my god, can you all stop,” the girl in the middle said, covering her face.

“No,” they said, laughing as they kept walking.

Their voices faded into the park, still teasing, still talking over each other.

Tali glanced toward the park. Bits of color were already visible through the trees, movement, light, something alive.

“The festival,” she said. “It starts today.”

Blake gave a small nod, already looking back at his phone.

“Do you want to check it out?” Tali asked. “Just for a bit.”

“Now?”

“We’re already here.”

“It’s going to be crowded.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

His phone buzzed.

He looked down immediately.

Something in Tali paused.

“Blake,” she said, softer now.

“Wait,” he muttered, already typing.

She looked past him, toward the park. Students were laughing, calling out to each other, carrying things in and out. It felt easy. Unforced.

Blake slipped his phone into his pocket. “My friends are at a sports bar on the other side of town,” he said. “I might head over.”

Tali turned back to him. “Right now?”

“Yeah. Haven’t seen them in a while.”

A small space settled between them.

“We can just take a quick look first,” Tali said. “Ten minutes.”

“It won’t be ten.”

“It can be.”

“Katalina.”

He said her name like it ended the discussion.

“You can go if you want,” he added. “I’ll head there.”

She searched his face. “You don’t want to come?”

“I just said you can go,” he replied, a little sharper. “Why are you making it a thing?”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

“I’m not,” she said quickly. “I just thought—”

“It’s fine,” he cut in. “We’ll meet later.”

Already decided.

Tali nodded. “Okay.”

Blake smiled, just enough. “Text me.”

“I will.”

He kissed her cheek, already turning away. “Enjoy.”

And then he was gone.

Tali watched his car disappear around the corner.

For a brief moment, everything made sense in a way she didn’t like, the quick answer about November, the way he stayed on his phone, how easily something they were supposed to do together became something she would do alone.

It was small. All of it was small.

But it added up.

Tali knew that. She could see it clearly, the same way she always had.

Still, she felt herself stepping back from that clarity, smoothing it out before it could settle too deeply.

He’s just tired. It’s not a big deal. This is how things are sometimes.

She let out a quiet breath, then crossed the street into the park.

The air felt different inside, cooler, softer. The noise surrounded her, but none of it asked anything from her.

She walked along the path, past booths and voices and laughter, until the sound thinned near the lagoon.

There, under one of the large trees, a man sat on a small stool with a canvas in front of him.

Paintings were laid out on the ground beside him.

Tali slowed. She stepped closer, lowering her gaze to the paintings laid out on the ground.

One showed a small church, its doors open wide. A newlywed couple stood just outside, close enough to each other that everything else seemed to fall away. Around them, people lined both sides, tossing rice, petals, and bits of confetti that hung midair, caught in that brief moment of celebration. The scene felt warm and full, but gently held, like it was meant to be remembered exactly as it was.

Next to it, a gray-orange cat sat on a worn stone step, its gaze fixed straight ahead as if it had quietly claimed the space as its own. One paw was lifted mid-motion, caught between cleaning itself and simply pausing, completely at ease, with no reason to move unless it chose to.

Another painting showed a swing tied to the branch of a large, old tree, its trunk thick and rooted deep into the ground. The ropes hung unevenly, the seat slightly tilted, as if someone had just stepped off moments before. Beneath it, the ground was dark with patches of mud, pressed down in places where feet had clearly been. A few small toys lay scattered nearby, half-forgotten, and a single slipper rested off to one side, turned slightly as if left in a hurry. From the base of the swing, a faint trail of muddy footprints led away, disappearing out of the frame.

Each piece felt simple at first glance.

But the longer she looked, the more they seemed to hold something just beneath the surface, not dramatic, not loud, just… there.

As if they were less about the place, and more about the moment right before or right after something happened.

Then she saw it.

A lighthouse.

She stopped.

The sky in the painting was hard to place. It could have been sunrise, or the last light before evening. The colors rested somewhere in between, soft but not quiet. It wasn’t a large piece, about the size of four sheets of paper put together, framed simply in wood, easy to carry, but large enough to hold your attention.

From the bottom edge of the canvas, a path began and then split into two. One side rose in a steady line of steps, structured, with a simple handrail running along the left. The other curved off toward a line of trees, the ground less defined, whether paved or rough, it was hard to tell. Though different in form, both paths seem to lead to the same place.

The lighthouse stood at the edge of a cliff, facing the open sea, steady against the wide stretch of water.

There were small boats below, resting near the shore. A few birds cut across the sky, frozen mid-flight.

Tali stepped closer.

“It’s different from the others,” she said, almost to herself.

The man glanced at her, then back at the canvas he was working on. “It took longer,” he replied.

She nodded slightly, still looking at the painting. “It feels… far.”

The man smiled a little. “It is.”

Tali tilted her head. “Do people usually go for this one?”

“Some do,” he said. “Most look at it for a while, then move on.”

“Why?”

“They’re not sure what to do with it.”

Tali let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “I get that.”

The man dipped his brush into paint. “It’s not meant to be busy,” he added. “You have to sit with it a bit.”

Her eyes moved along the path again, from the base of the hill up to the tower.

“It doesn’t look easy to get there,” she said.

The man shrugged lightly. “It’s a path,” he said. “It goes where it goes.”

She glanced at him. “You don’t make it easier?”

He shook his head, a faint smile on his face. “If I did, it wouldn’t look right.”

Tali looked back at the painting.

“And the light?” she asked after a moment.

The man followed her gaze to the top of the tower, then gave a small shake of his head. “I didn’t paint it in.”

She looked again.

There was nothing there, no glow, no beam. Just the still outline of the structure against the sky, quiet and unmoving, as if it had been left that way on purpose.

“It’s not lit,” she said.

“No,” he replied. “I liked it better this way.”

Tali nodded slowly.

For a moment, she just stood there, taking it in, the path, the distance, the quiet of it.

“Is it a real place?” she asked.

The man glanced at her, then back at the painting. “Could be,” he said.

“That’s not an answer.”

He smiled a little. “It’s enough of one.”

She let that sit.

Her eyes stayed on the lighthouse a little longer before she spoke again. “How much is this one?”

“How much do you think it costs?” the man asked instead.

Tali blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

He nodded, still seated, brush resting loosely in his hand. “You’ve been looking at it long enough.”

She glanced back at the painting, then gave a small, unsure smile. “I don’t know… I’m not very good at that.”

“Try,” he said, easy, not pushing.

Tali studied it again, the path, the stillness, the empty top of the tower.

“…Maybe more than the others?” she said. “As you said it took longer to paint.”

The man gave a small nod. “It did.”

She let out a quiet breath. “I really don’t know.”

“That’s alright,” he said. Then, after a brief pause, “I can give it to you for twenty.”

Tali turned to him. “Twenty?”

He nodded, as if it were nothing.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I am.”

She hesitated. “It feels like it’s worth more than that.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not yet.”

Tali looked back at the painting.

“You can pay twenty now,” he continued. “And if the time comes that you think it’s worth more… you can find me and pay the rest.”

She let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. “That’s a risky deal.”

The man smiled faintly. “Only if you forget.”

Tali shook her head slightly, her gaze returning to the lighthouse.

“I don’t think I would,” she said.

“Then it’s not much of a risk,” he replied.

She stood there for a moment longer, the painting in front of her, the offer settling in quietly.

Then she nodded, almost to herself.

The man turned back to his canvas, brushing in slow strokes across the water of the lagoon, like nothing else around him needed his attention.

Tali stayed where she was.

Her eyes kept drifting back to the lighthouse, even when she tried to look away. There was something about it that held her there, quiet but steady.

After a while, other people began to gather.

At first, just one or two, passing by, slowing down, taking a second look. Then more.

“Oh wow! Wait, look at this one,” a woman said, stepping closer to the painting of the church.

She let out a small laugh, covering her mouth. “This looks like our wedding.”

She turned, already pulling her phone out. “I have to show this to my husband, he’s not gonna believe this.”

She crouched a little to get a better look. “How much is this one?” she asked, glancing up at the painter.

He answered without much thought, still focused on his canvas.

Tali caught the number.

It was reasonable. More than fair, even.

She glanced down at the lighthouse painting, a small, almost unnoticed shift in her expression.

For her, he had said twenty.

The woman blinked. “That’s it? Seriously?”

He gave a small nod.

“Oh my gosh,” she said, already reaching into her bag. “No, I’m paying more than that.”

She handed him the money, adding a little extra without hesitation. “This is too nice,” she said, smiling as she carefully picked up the painting, holding it like something fragile.

“Thank you,” she added, already walking off, still shaking her head like she couldn’t believe it.

Tali watched her go.

Next to her, a boy, maybe in middle school, had picked up the painting of the cat. He held it up toward his dad, eyes wide.

“Dad, look,” he said. “Doesn’t that look like Cruzita?”

The father leaned in, squinting a bit. Then he smiled. “It does, huh.”

“Can we get it?” the boy asked, already hopeful.

The man glanced at the painter. “How much for that one?”

The painter gave the same kind of answer, calm, steady.

The father nodded. “Alright,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “We’ll take it.”

The boy grinned, holding the painting a little tighter.

A few steps away, a woman stood with a baby sleeping against her chest in a carrier. She had the painting of the swing in her hands, her fingers resting lightly on the frame.

She let out a soft laugh. “This reminds me of my first,” she said, almost to herself.

Then her voice shifted, just slightly.

“Kenyon should’ve been seven today.”

She didn’t look at anyone when she said it.

She just reached into her pocket, pulled out some money, and asked the painter the price.

He told her.

She nodded, handed it over, and held the painting a little closer before turning away, gently rocking the baby as she walked.

Tali felt something tighten in her chest.

Around her, more people had started to gather. The small space near the lagoon was filling up, voices overlapping now.

“How much for this one?”

“Can I take this?”

“Do you have more like this?”

Hands reached in, picking up paintings, setting them down, choosing, deciding.

And suddenly, it felt like everything was moving faster.

Tali looked back at the ground.

There were fewer paintings now.

Her eyes found the lighthouse again.

For a second, she just stood there, watching it, like if she waited long enough, it might tell her something.

Then someone stepped a little too close, reaching toward the same spot.

Something in her moved before she could think.

She bent down and picked up the painting.

The frame felt light in her hands.

Too light.

She stared at it, her grip tightening just slightly.

Then she looked up at the painter, who was now answering two people at once, still calm, still steady.

“Are you sure about the price?” she asked, her voice cutting through just enough.

He paused. Looked at her.

Then nodded once. “Yes.”

That was it. No explanation. No change.

Just yes.

Tali held his gaze for a second longer, like she was waiting for something else to follow.

Nothing did.

She exhaled, reached into her bag, and pulled out a twenty.

Her fingers lingered on it for half a second.

Then she handed it to him.

The frame sat lightly in her hands, but it didn’t feel that way.

Tali held it closer, her fingers resting along the edge, careful without thinking about it. Up close, she could see the small details she hadn’t noticed before, the uneven strokes along the path, the way the trees leaned just slightly inward, the stillness of the tower against everything else.

Around her, voices kept moving. Laughter. Excited tones. People calling out to each other.

Someone behind her said, “Babe, this one, this looks like us, right?” followed by a quick laugh.

Another voice answered, “Get it, before someone else does.”

Tali didn’t turn. She didn’t need to.

She had heard enough of those moments before, close enough to be part of them, but never quite in the center of it.

She adjusted her grip on the frame.

It was a simple thing, really. Just a painting.

But standing there, watching people choose, buy, and hold onto something they saw themselves in, it felt like everyone else had already found their place in the story.

And she was just… arriving late.

Her eyes drifted back to the lighthouse, standing there unchanged, quiet and patient, as if it didn’t need to ask for anything at all.

For a brief moment, something in her chest tightened, not sharp, not painful, just there.

A quiet thought, passing through.

Maybe it didn’t have to be perfect.
Maybe it just had to be… something.

She let out a small breath.

Her fingers curled a little firmer around the frame, like she was making sure it wouldn’t slip.

Tali didn’t realize how long she had been standing there, just looking at the painting.

When she finally lifted her head, the crowd had thinned. Only a few people were left. A student, maybe a fine arts major, was still beside the painter, asking question after question about technique, brushwork, inspiration. The painter answered calmly, like he had all the time in the world, while a couple more students had gathered around, listening in.

Tali stepped closer, a little awkward about interrupting.

“Sorry,” she said, raising a hand slightly. “Just… sorry to cut in.”

The student stepped back a bit, giving her space.

Tali looked at the painter. “I just wanted to say… I’ll come back. Like we said. I’ll pay more when I figure out what this is actually worth.”

The painter looked at her for a second, then nodded, like that was enough.

“Alright,” he said.

He reached out, and she shook his hand. His grip was firm but easy, then he turned back to the student like the conversation had just paused, not ended.

Tali lingered for half a second, then turned away.

She walked toward the direction of the city hall, the painting held carefully in one hand. It felt light, but she held it like it wasn’t.

Halfway through, she spotted a milk tea booth set up under a small tent.

“Okay,” she murmured to herself. “I need a break.”

She placed the painting on a nearby bench, leaning it carefully against the backrest, then stepped up to the booth.

“One iced milk tea, please.”

“Large?” the vendor asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

She paid, then waited, watching the vendor move quickly between cups and containers.

As she was receiving her change, a voice behind her said, “That’s a sick painting.”

Tali turned.

A guy stood a few steps away, a guitar case slung over one shoulder. He was dressed simply, faded jeans, a plain dark shirt with the sleeves slightly rolled, nothing flashy, but he carried himself in a way that made people notice anyway.

He nodded toward the bench. “Did you paint that?”

Tali shook her head. “No. There’s a painter by the lagoon.”

He glanced in that direction, then back at the painting. “It’s really good,” he said, stepping closer. “There’s something about it.”

“Yeah,” Tali said quietly. “I thought so too.”

Two girls who had been waiting for their drinks edged closer, drawn in by the conversation.

“Wait, can we see?” one of them asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Tali said, stepping aside.

The first girl leaned in, squinting slightly. “Why are there two paths?” she asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

The other girl tilted her head. “No, it does. Look, this one’s stairs. See the railing? That’s probably the easier way up.”

“And this one?” the first girl asked, pointing.

“Through the trees,” the second said. “Maybe it’s rough. Like uneven or something.”

The first girl frowned. “But… it’s the same destination.”

The guy let out a small laugh. “I think that’s the point.”

They all looked at him.

He shrugged lightly. “I mean, you’re going to the same place, right? Just different ways of getting there.”

The first girl crouched lower, her face almost too close to the canvas. Then suddenly she straightened.

“Wait,” she said. “That path doesn’t even connect.”

“What?” the second girl said.

“Look,” she insisted, pointing. “It just disappears into the trees. There’s no clear way up to the lighthouse.”

They all leaned in.

She was right.

The path through the trees didn’t clearly lead anywhere.

The guy tilted his head, studying it. “Maybe it loops around,” he said. “Like it goes behind and comes up from the side.”

The second girl nodded slowly. “Yeah… that could work.”

Then she glanced at her friend. “We just don’t see the whole thing.”

The first girl crossed her arms. “Still. If there’s a clear way up, why take the other one?”

“The impatient one speaks,” the second girl said, laughing.

“I’m serious!”

The second girl looked at Tali. “Sorry about her. She hates waiting.”

Tali shook her head slightly. “No, it’s fine.”

She looked back at the painting.

“I get it,” she said. “If you already see a way up… why go the longer way?”

The guy smiled a little, like he’d been waiting for that.

“Maybe the longer way isn’t just about getting there,” he said. “Maybe there’s stuff along it. Things you don’t see from the stairs.”

He glanced at the painting again.

“Maybe it’s slower, sure,” he added. “But maybe it’s also where things happen.”

The two girls went quiet for a second, then started murmuring to each other.

Tali didn’t say anything.

She just looked at the painting again, like she was seeing it differently now.

Then the guy grinned, almost to himself. “That actually sounds like a song.”

He looked at her. “I’m playing here for the festival. All three nights.”

He shifted the guitar case slightly on his shoulder. “Isagani.”

He extended his hand.

Tali hesitated for just a split second, then took it. “Tali.”

He nodded. “You should drop by if you’re around.”

She gave a small smile. “Will you be playing that song?”

He laughed. “Maybe tomorrow. Or I’ll save it for the last night.”

The two girls exchanged looks, watching them like they were front row at something interesting.

Tali let go of his hand. “I’ll try to come,” she said. “I’ll be back Sunday anyway.”

Her eyes drifted back to the painting.

Something about it sat heavier now.

Like it had settled into her.

Isagani followed her gaze. “That piece,” he said, “it’s worth more than whatever you paid for it.”

Tali glanced at him, a little surprised.

He shrugged. “You can tell.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“I might check out the painter too,” he added. “Feels like there’s more there.”

“There is,” Tali said.

The vendor called out, “Milk tea!”

Tali turned, picking it up carefully.

When she looked back, Isagani was already stepping away, giving a small wave.

“See you around,” he said.

Tali nodded.

Then she picked up the painting again, holding it a little closer this time.

Tali pushed the door open and stepped into her apartment, letting it close behind her with a soft click. She didn’t bother turning on the lights right away. The place was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavier than usual after being out the whole day.

She walked over to the coffee table and set the painting down carefully, adjusting it just a little so it wouldn’t slip, then dropped onto the sofa with a tired exhale. Her body sank into the cushions as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, letting the stillness settle around her.

For a moment, it almost worked.

Then her thoughts started coming in, one after the other, not loud but steady enough that she couldn’t ignore them.

Today wasn’t the first time Blake had left her mid-plan to go meet his friends. It wasn’t even the second. And it wasn’t like he made a big deal out of it either. It always came out simple, casual, like it made sense, like it wasn’t something that needed discussion.

Tali shifted slightly on the sofa, her eyes still closed.

Her mind drifted back, almost on its own, to eight months ago, to a night she didn’t really mean to remember this clearly.

It was right after her thirty-first birthday. She had been lying in bed, phone in hand, scrolling without really looking at anything, feeling off in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Bored, a little emotional, a little annoyed at everything for no clear reason.

Then she saw it.

A post from a high school classmate. Someone they used to joke about, someone they all thought would stay single forever, had just announced her engagement.

Tali remembered staring at the photo longer than she wanted to admit.

It didn’t sit right.

Not because she wasn’t happy for her, but because something in her tightened in a way she didn’t like. A quiet thought slipped in before she could stop it.

How did she get there first?

And once that thought was there, everything else followed. Comparisons she didn’t want to make, small, bitter thoughts she knew weren’t fair but couldn’t quite push away. It made her feel incomplete in a way she hadn’t felt before, like she was suddenly behind on something she didn’t realize had a timeline.

That was the night she downloaded the app.

She remembered swiping through profiles without much interest, left, left, left, barely reading, until she landed on Blake.

Mid-thirties. Corporate job. Clean, put-together photos.

But it was his caption that made her stop.

He said he was ready to settle down. That he didn’t want to waste time. That he was looking for someone who was already in the same place, someone serious, someone ready. He even mentioned being financially stable, that he could support a future wife in whatever she wanted to do.

Tali had sat up a little when she read that, her mood shifting before she even realized it.

Finally, she had thought.

Someone who knows what he wants.

She swiped right.

When they matched an hour later, she had actually smiled, wide and real, the kind she hadn’t felt the whole evening.

Everything after that moved fast. A week of messaging, then they met in person, and Blake was exactly as he presented himself, direct, clear, efficient. He talked about plans, timelines, what he wanted his life to look like, and he didn’t hesitate. There were no games, no guessing.

At the time, it felt easy.

After a couple of months, though, Tali started noticing the gaps. They didn’t have much in common. Conversations didn’t always flow the way she expected. Sometimes there were pauses that felt a little too long, moments where she didn’t quite know what to say next.

But Blake was stable. He was sure. And more than anything, he was ready.

That mattered more.

By the sixth month, he brought it up, just like that. No big moment, no build-up. They were sitting in a coffee shop when he said it, calm and straightforward, like he was making a decision he had already thought through.

“I think we know each other well enough by now,” he had said. “Time to get married, don’t you think?”

Tali had been surprised, of course. Anyone would be.

But at the same time, it felt like this was where things were supposed to go.

This was what she wanted.

She didn’t want to be the only one still figuring things out while everyone else seemed to be moving forward, settling down, building something.

So, she said yes. Or at least, something close enough to it that it meant the same thing.

Since then, things hadn’t exactly fallen into place the way she imagined. Their schedules never lined up easily. Tali was free most of the time, but Blake always seemed to have something else going on, work, friends, plans that came up last minute.

Today was supposed to be different. They had finally found time to go to the church and actually pick a date.

But even that didn’t go as planned.

Blake kept checking his phone, stepping aside at one point to take a call while the staff was talking to them. Tali had stood there, trying to stay present, trying to act like everything was fine.

She could still remember the staff’s smile, polite but slightly strained, the way it shifted just enough to be noticeable.

Before they could decide, the staff guided them out, placing a sheet of paper into Tali’s hands.

“These are the available dates,” she had said. “From November to January. You can come back or call to set the date.”

Then she added, half joking, “Take your time. You don’t want to pick a date you won’t even remember later.”

It was meant lightly, but Tali felt it land heavier than it should have.

Now, lying on her sofa, she turned her head slightly and looked at the coffee table. The paper was still there in her bag, resting beside the painting.

November to January.

Close enough to feel real. Close enough to feel rushed.

Her gaze shifted to the painting.

The lighthouse stood there, quiet, unchanged.

Tali let out a slow breath, her chest rising and falling as she stared at it.

She didn’t say anything out loud this time.

But the question was there anyway.

Is this really it?

She stayed there a little longer, the silence pressing in again, until the sudden sound of the doorbell broke through it.

Tali pushed herself up slowly from the sofa when the doorbell rang, dragging her feet a little as she walked over.

“Coming,” she called out.

She opened the door, and before she could even say anything, Imani was already there, eyebrows raised, like she had been waiting to see something.

“Wow,” Imani said, not waiting for an invitation as she slipped past Tali and into the apartment. “You took your time.”

“I just got in,” Tali said, closing the door behind her.

Imani had already dropped herself onto the sofa like she owned it, leaning back, kicking her shoes off halfway. Her eyes landed almost immediately on the painting on the coffee table.

“Okaaay,” she said, leaning forward a bit. “What is this? This is nice.”

Tali walked over and sat beside her, a little slower this time. “I got it earlier.”

Imani tilted her head, studying it. “I like it,” she said. “It’s… calm. But also not?” She squinted a little. “Why does it feel like it’s judging me?”

Tali let out a small laugh. “I don’t know.”

Imani pointed at it. “We should go there.”

Tali blinked. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Imani said, already warming up to the idea. “We need a break. Let’s just go, find this place, reset our lives a bit. You clearly need it.”

Tali smiled faintly. “It’s probably not a real place.”

“Still,” Imani said with a shrug. Then she glanced around. “Why is it still here though? Why haven’t you hung it?”

“I literally just got home,” Tali said. “I haven’t even changed yet.”

Imani raised an eyebrow. “Okay, fair. But wait, weren’t you at the church today?”

Tali nodded.

“That took this long?” Imani asked. “Or don’t tell me you already booked the reception, hired a planner, picked flowers, wow, look at you, moving fast.”

Tali let out a breath, then leaned back slightly.

“Yeah… no,” she said.

Imani’s expression shifted just a little. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

Tali hesitated, her fingers tapping lightly against her knee. For a second, she looked like she might brush it off.

But this was Imani.

“We didn’t even set a date,” Tali said finally.

Imani blinked. “Wait. What?”

Tali let out a small, tired laugh. “He left right after. Said his friends were at a bar.”

Imani didn’t say anything right away.

“And during the meeting,” Tali continued, “he was on his phone the whole time. Even took a call in the middle of it.”

The silence stretched for a second.

“I ended up just… taking the list of dates,” Tali said, gesturing toward the table. “November to January.”

Imani’s face went still. Not shocked. Not confused.

Just very, very controlled.

“And then?” she asked.

Tali shrugged slightly. “Then I went to the park. Bought that.” She nodded toward the painting. “Had brunch. Went to work instead. Changed my leave.”

Imani let out a slow breath, looking away for a second, like she was holding something back.

When she looked at Tali again, her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

“Are you okay with that?”

Tali frowned slightly. “With what?”

“With everything you just said,” Imani replied. “Tali, you’re… you’re smart. Like, scary smart. You know that, right?”

Tali gave a small shrug. “That has nothing to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with this,” Imani said. “You deserve better than this.”

Tali looked down at her hands.

Imani leaned forward, elbows on her knees now. “You met him eight months ago. Eight. Months.”

Tali didn’t respond.

“I get whirlwind romance,” Imani continued. “I really do. But this? This isn’t that. This is-” she let out a short breath, shaking her head, “-this is all red flags. Like, it’s not even subtle. It’s a whole parade.”

Tali pressed her lips together.

“Someone who got pregnant the night you met Blake hasn’t even had the baby yet,” Imani added, her tone still calm but sharper now. “That’s how short this is.”

“Imani-”

“No, listen,” she said, softer this time. “I’m not saying don’t fall in love. I’m saying don’t rush into something that already feels off.”

Tali finally looked up. “I want to get married.”

The words came out simple. Honest.

Imani paused.

“Like you,” Tali added quietly.

Something in Imani’s expression softened, but she shook her head slightly.

“Being married is not what you think it is,” she said. “It has some good points, yeah, but it’s not some finish line.”

She leaned back, looking at Tali more carefully now.

“Do you want to be married,” she asked, “or do you want to be married to someone who keeps ditching you?”

Tali didn’t answer.

Imani sighed, her voice gentler now. “You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You have your whole life ahead of you. Why are you acting like there’s a deadline?”

Tali looked away.

“There isn’t,” Imani added. “You don’t have to rush this.”

She was about to say more when her phone rang.

Imani glanced at the screen and immediately answered. “Babe?”

On the other end, there was noise-panic, a child crying.

“What happened?” Imani said, already standing up. “Okay, okay, I’m coming. Just- yeah, I’m on my way.”

She ended the call quickly, grabbing her bag and slipping on her shoes.

Tali stood up too.

“Deeyah’s crying non-stop,” Imani said, already moving toward the door. “I need to go or Hiroshi will be the one crying.”

She turned back for a second, stepping closer to Tali and pulling her into a hug.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice warm now, all the sharpness gone. “Think about this properly, okay? You deserve a lot better than what you’re settling for.”

Tali nodded against her shoulder.

Imani pulled back, gave her one last look, then headed out.

The door closed, and just like that, the apartment was quiet again.

Tali stood there for a moment, not moving.

Then her gaze dropped to the coffee table.

To the painting.

It sat there, steady, almost like it was waiting.

As if it didn’t belong on the table.

As if it was meant to be placed somewhere else.

Tali stood there for a moment, then reached down and picked up the painting, her grip instinctive, familiar.

With a quiet exhale, she walked toward the wall between her dining area and living space. It was the only stretch of wall that felt open enough, not crowded by shelves or frames, just a clean space that connected both sides of the apartment.

“Here, maybe,” she murmured to herself.

She held the painting up, stepping back a little, tilting it slightly left, then right, trying to see if it fit. It looked… right, somehow. Not perfect, but like it belonged there.

“Okay,” she said under her breath.

She found a hook, took a minute to fix it, then carefully hung the painting. She adjusted it once, then again, until it sat straight.

Stepping back, she crossed her arms loosely and just looked at it.

The lighthouse stood there, quiet as before. The two paths, the still sky, the trees that didn’t quite give away what was behind them.

It looked the same.

But not exactly.

Tali stayed there longer than she meant to, her eyes tracing the lines again, then finally she shook her head lightly, like snapping herself out of it.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Enough.”

She moved back to the sofa and sat down, reaching for her phone more out of habit than intention. She unlocked it and started scrolling, not really paying attention at first, just letting her thumb move.

A few posts passed- food, travel, random updates- until a video caught her eye.

She paused.

It was from someone she hadn’t thought about in years. A high school classmate.

The girl was smiling at the camera, speaking easily, almost too comfortably, talking about the upcoming grand alumni homecoming, inviting everyone to come, tagging people, laughing in between.

Tali frowned slightly, leaning back into the sofa.

“That’s… her?” she murmured.

She remembered her clearly. Quiet. Kept to herself. The kind of person who would sit at the back, speak only when called, barely even join group conversations.

And now she was here, talking to a camera like it was nothing, attending events, moving through spaces Tali couldn’t imagine her in before.

Tali watched the video again, then tapped into the profile, scrolling a bit.

More videos. More photos. Always smiling. Always out.

“Huh,” she said under her breath.

People really do change.

The thought came and stayed a little longer than expected.

She locked her phone and let it drop lightly onto her lap, her gaze drifting without thinking.

It landed on the painting.

For a second, she just stared at it, not really focusing, her mind still somewhere else.

She didn’t notice the faint shift in the room.

Didn’t notice how the light, soft and pale yellow, seemed to flicker just slightly along the wall.

Didn’t notice anything at all.

Until- she blinked. And something felt… off. Not wrong. Just different.

The air felt cooler. Quieter.

Tali frowned slightly and straightened, her fingers tightening around the edge of the seat she was on.

The seat.

She wasn’t on her sofa anymore.

She was sitting on a wooden chair.

She looked down.

Then up.

The lighthouse stood in front of her.

Not framed. Not painted.

Real.

Tall, solid, rising against a sky that stretched far wider than any wall could hold. The light sat low, soft and pale, stretching the shadows longer than they should be, like the day had only just begun.

The wind moved gently, brushing past her, carrying a faint scent of salt and something earthy she couldn’t quite name.

Tali didn’t move.

Her heart started to pick up, not fast, but enough for her to notice.

“What…?” she said, her voice quieter than she expected.

She turned her head slightly, taking in the space around her, the ground beneath, the path, the trees that looked less like brushstrokes now and more like something she could reach out and touch.

“This isn’t…” she murmured.

She let out a small breath, almost a laugh, like she was trying to make sense of it.

“I’m dreaming.”

It sounded reasonable enough.

She looked back at the lighthouse, still there, unchanged.

“Okay,” she said softly, more to herself than anything. “Okay… this is a dream.”

But she didn’t wake up.

And the lighthouse didn’t fade.

Tali stayed where she was for a moment, still seated, her eyes fixed on the lighthouse.

It was exactly as she had seen it before and yet not.

The air moved differently here. She could feel it against her skin, light but steady, carrying a faint chill that didn’t exist in her apartment. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear something low and constant.

She tilted her head slightly, listening.

Waves.

She couldn’t see the ocean from where she was. The trees along the edge of the cliff were thicker than she expected, their branches and leaves crowding together, blocking the view completely. But the sound was there, steady and real, rising and falling in a rhythm that made the whole place feel alive.

Tali slowly pushed herself up from the chair.

Her feet met solid ground.

She took a few cautious steps forward, her eyes moving across everything, trying to take it in. The details were clearer now. The path, the trees, the way the wind shifted through them.

Then she saw it.

The path splitting into two.

She walked closer, stopping just before the fork.

On one side, the stairs.

They went up in a straight line toward the lighthouse, just like in the painting. But now that she stood in front of them, they didn’t look as steady as she remembered. Some steps were higher than others, some narrower, uneven in a way that would make you watch your footing. The railing ran along one side, but it didn’t look very strong, just a simple line of metal that might help, or might not.

She stared at it for a second.

Direct. Obvious. It led straight up.

Then she turned her head.

The other path curved into the trees.

From where she stood, it looked quieter, almost inviting. The ground wasn’t clear, parts of it were hidden under leaves, roots breaking through in places, the way forward not as defined. It dipped slightly before rising again, disappearing deeper into the trees.

Tali took a small step closer to it.

There was something about it that pulled at her, something less certain but… more alive. Like there might be things along the way she couldn’t see from here. Maybe even a point where the trees would open up and she could finally see the ocean before reaching the lighthouse.

Or maybe not. Maybe it just went nowhere.

She frowned slightly, glancing back at the stairs.

“That one’s easier,” she murmured under her breath.

Straightforward. Clear. No guessing.

Then she looked back at the path through the trees.

“But this one…” she said quietly, almost to herself.

She didn’t finish the thought.

She just stood there, her gaze shifting between the two, her body angled slightly as if she might move, but not quite committing.

For the first time since she arrived, she felt it clearly.

Uncertainty.

Not the kind she could brush off. Not the kind she could solve quickly.

Just there.

Waiting.

She let out a slow breath, her shoulders rising and falling slightly as she tried to decide, even though she wasn’t sure what she was deciding for.

Then-

“Are you not sure which way to go?”

The voice came from behind her.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

“Do you need help?”

Tali froze.

For a second, she didn’t turn. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, her breath catching just enough for her to notice.

Slowly, she turned around.

And then she stopped.

Standing a few steps behind her was a girl in a high school uniform.

White blouse, neatly tucked. Skirt falling just below the knees. A pin fastened near the collar-royal blue.

Senior year.

The girl looked at her, calm, curious, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Tali’s breath hitched slightly.

Because she knew that face.

Knew it too well.

She was looking at herself.

Just younger. Softer. Still carrying a kind of lightness she no longer remembered having.

The girl tilted her head just a little, studying her.

“Well?” she said, a small, almost teasing smile forming. “Do you need help?”

Tali stared at her.

For a second, she didn’t even know what to say. Her eyes moved over the girl’s face, searching for something that would make sense of it-some difference, some mistake.

There wasn’t any.

Same eyes. Same shape. Just… lighter. Less weighed down.

“You—” Tali let out a small breath, almost a laugh, but it didn’t quite land. “Okay. That’s… weird.”

The girl didn’t seem bothered. She just stood there, looking at Tali with open curiosity, like she had just met someone new.

“So,” the girl said, tilting her head a little, “are you going up or not?”

Tali blinked. “Up?”

The girl nodded toward the lighthouse. “That’s the point, right?”

Tali glanced back at it, then at the two paths in front of her.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “I think so.”

A small pause settled between them.

Then Tali looked back at her. “What’s your name?”

“Kat,” the girl said easily. “Short for Katalina.”

Tali’s breath caught, just slightly.

Kat.

The name landed heavier than it should have.

She looked at her more closely now, something in her chest tightening in a quiet, unfamiliar way.

“I used to go by that,” Tali said. “My name’s Katalina too.”

Kat blinked. “Wait, really?”

Tali nodded, a faint smile forming. “Yeah. A long time ago.”

Kat studied her for a second, like she was trying to piece something together, but not quite getting there.

“Why’d you stop using Kat?” she asked.

Tali let out a soft breath. “When I got to college, there was another Katalina,” she said. “Same name, same nickname and somehow we kept ending up in the same classes. She was… kind of known around campus.”

Kat’s face twisted slightly. “In a bad way?”

Tali nodded. “Yeah.”

“Ah,” Kat said, wincing. “That’s rough.”

“So, I dropped ‘Kat,’” Tali continued. “Tried something else. Went with ‘Talia’ for a bit.”

Kat made a face. “Talia?”

Tali laughed softly. “I know.”

“What happened to that?”

“It just… changed,” Tali said. “Ended up with Tali.”

Kat tilted her head, considering that. “Hmm. I think I’d still go with Kat.”

Tali smiled a little. “Yeah. I figured you would.”

They stood there for a moment, the wind moving gently between them, the distant sound of waves filling the quiet.

Kat glanced toward the paths again. “So… which one are you taking?”

Tali followed her gaze.

“The stairs are the easiest,” she said. “Straight up. No guessing.”

Kat walked a few steps closer to the base of the stairs, looking up at them. “They don’t look that easy.”

Tali joined her, her eyes tracing the uneven steps. “Yeah. Some of these are kind of off.”

“That one’s too high,” Kat said, pointing. “And that one’s too small. You’d have to keep adjusting.”

“And the railing doesn’t look great either,” Tali added.

Kat leaned slightly toward it, then pulled back. “Yeah, I wouldn’t trust that.”

Tali let out a small breath, then turned toward the other path.

Kat had already shifted her attention there.

“This one’s nicer,” Kat said.

“More interesting,” Tali agreed.

Kat took a step toward it, peering into the trees. “But you can’t really see where it goes.”

“Exactly,” Tali said.

“It might not even lead up,” Kat added.

Tali crossed her arms loosely. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

Kat squinted down the path. “Or maybe it does. Just not straight.”

Tali let out a quiet breath. “Or maybe it just loops around forever.”

Kat shrugged. “That could still be fun.”

Tali looked at her. “Fun?”

“Yeah,” Kat said simply. “You might see something.”

Tali shook her head slightly, a faint smile forming. “Or I could just take the stairs and be done with it.”

Kat glanced back at the stairs, then at Tali. “Yeah, but that’s kind of boring.”

Tali huffed a small laugh. “Not everything has to be exciting.”

Kat looked at her for a second, like she was about to say something, then stopped.

Instead, she turned back toward the trees.

“I feel like you’d see the ocean from there,” she said.

Tali followed her gaze. “You can’t even see it now.”

“I know,” Kat said. “But maybe somewhere along the way.”

Tali imagined it for a second, the trees opening, the view clearing, the sound finally matching what she could see.

Then she looked back at the stairs.

Clear. Direct.

Her body shifted slightly, like she might move, but she didn’t.

Kat noticed.

“You’re really thinking about it,” she said.

Tali let out a small breath. “Yeah.”

Kat tilted her head, studying her again. “It’s just a path,” she said. “Why does it feel like a big deal?”

Tali blinked, caught off guard.

She looked at her, then back at the paths.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

Kat accepted that easily, like it was a fair answer.

“Well,” she said, stepping up beside her, “no rush.”

Tali let out a quiet breath.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “No rush.”

Kat shifted her weight slightly, glancing from the path back to Tali, like something just crossed her mind.

“So, what do you do?” she asked. “Like… for work.”

Tali blinked, a little caught off guard by how normal the question sounded in a place that didn’t feel normal at all.

“Work?” she repeated, letting out a small breath. “I’m a Lead Financial Analyst.”

Kat’s eyes widened immediately. “Wait, really?”

Tali nodded, a faint smile forming. “Yeah.”

“That sounds… big,” Kat said, her brows lifting. “What do you actually do?”

Tali shrugged lightly, but there was a hint of pride in the way she answered. “A lot of numbers. Reports. Trends. I look at patterns, try to make sense of what’s happening and what might happen next.”

Kat leaned in a little, clearly interested now. “Like solving things?”

“Yeah,” Tali said, her smile growing just a bit. “Exactly like that. It’s kind of like solving a puzzle. You get pieces, sometimes messy, sometimes incomplete, and you try to make them fit.”

Kat’s face lit up. “I love that.”

Tali let out a soft laugh. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Kat said quickly, already getting excited. “I like math. Like, a lot. I like when there’s a formula and you just follow it and it works. Or when you figure out a pattern and suddenly everything makes sense.”

Tali watched her, something in her expression shifting.

Kat kept going, her hands moving a little as she talked. “And when you get the answer right, it just feels… I don’t know, satisfying? Like you did something right.”

Tali nodded slowly.

“I used to feel that way too,” she said quietly, almost more to herself than to Kat.

Kat didn’t catch it. She was still going, still in it. “And there’s always a way to solve it, right? Even if it’s hard, there’s still a way. You just have to figure it out.”

Tali’s smile faded just slightly.

She studied Kat more closely now.

The way she spoke. The way she moved. The ease in her voice.

And then it clicked.

Kat wasn’t reacting like she was seeing an older version of herself.

She was just… talking. Curious. Open. Like Tali was just another person standing there.

Tali felt something shift inside her, small but clear.

She swallowed lightly.

“So,” Tali said, adjusting her stance, “what do you want to do?”

Kat didn’t even hesitate. “I want to head a bank,” she said. “Or something like that. Anything in finance, really. Somewhere I can use all this.” She tapped her head lightly, smiling. “Like, I don’t just want to be part of it. I want to run it.”

Tali raised an eyebrow slightly. “That’s big.”

Kat grinned. “Yeah. Why not?”

Tali let out a quiet laugh. “Fair.”

“I want to be one of the youngest Financial Directors,” Kat added, her voice picking up again, more animated now. “Like, people would look at me and go, ‘Wait, how did she get there so fast?’”

Tali watched her, something in her chest tightening just a little.

Kat kept going, not noticing. “And I don’t want to get married until I get there. That would just slow things down.”

Tali blinked.

Kat didn’t stop. “There’s so much to do. I want to travel, see places, and try things. Meet new people. I don’t want to just… stay in one place and settle too early.”

Tali let out a small breath.

It surprised her.

And then it surprised her that she was surprised.

Because she remembered.

She had thought that way.

Maybe not exactly like this, not out loud, not all at once, but it had been there.

Kat finally paused, glancing at her. “What?”

Tali shook her head slightly. “Nothing. I just… forgot I used to think like that.”

Kat frowned a little. “Used to?”

Tali didn’t answer right away.

She looked down at her hands, then back at the two paths in front of them.

“I’m engaged,” she said.

The words felt heavier here.

Kat blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

There was no reaction beyond that. No excitement. Just processing.

Tali let out a quiet breath. “His name’s Blake.”

Kat nodded slowly. “Do you like him?”

Tali hesitated.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “I do.”

Kat tilted her head. “But?”

Tali let out a small, almost tired laugh. “But… I don’t know.”

Kat waited.

Tali shifted her weight, her eyes moving to the stairs, then to the path through the trees.

“He leaves,” she said. “A lot. Like… we make plans, and then he just goes off to do something else. Meets his friends. Takes calls. Stuff like that.”

Kat tilted her head. “He just… goes off like that?”

Tali looked at her, surprised. “Yeah.”

Kat thought about that. “Did you tell him not to?”

Tali blinked. “What?”

“Like, did you say you didn’t like it?”

Tali opened her mouth, then paused.

“…No,” she admitted.

Kat nodded slowly, like she was just collecting information. “Okay.”

Tali let out a breath, looking away for a second. “He’s just… busy. And he’s very straightforward. He knows what he wants.”

Kat raised an eyebrow. “And that’s you?”

Tali hesitated again.

“…I think so,” she said.

Kat looked at her for a moment, not judging, just curious.

“Do you feel good when you’re with him?” she asked.

Tali swallowed.

She looked at the stairs.

Then at the other path.

“I feel… settled,” she said.

Kat nodded, like she understood the word.

“But do you feel happy?” she asked.

Tali didn’t answer.

The wind moved between them again, carrying the sound of the waves a little louder this time.

Kat didn’t push.

She just stood there, waiting, like she had all the time in the world.

Tali let out a slow breath, her gaze drifting back to the two paths in front of her.

“…I don’t know,” she said quietly.

Kat accepted that.

“Okay,” she said simply.

Kat shifted her weight slightly, glancing between Tali and the two paths again, like she was still deciding something in her own head.

Then she looked back at Tali.

“What do your friends say?” she asked.

Tali blinked. “About what?”

“About him,” Kat said simply. “Blake.”

The question landed softer than it should have, but it stayed.

Tali let out a small breath, her eyes dropping to the ground for a second before she looked back up.

“They don’t like him,” she admitted.

Kat didn’t react much, just nodded once, like that made sense.

“Why?”

Tali huffed a quiet laugh, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “My best friend, Imani, she thinks I’m rushing. She keeps saying I deserve better. That I’m settling.”

Kat tilted her head slightly. “Are you?”

Tali didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she looked off toward the trees, the sound of the waves drifting in again, steady and calm.

“She doesn’t like how he treats me,” Tali continued after a moment. “Says he doesn’t show up the way he should.”

Kat nodded slowly, taking that in.

“And at work,” Tali added, her voice a little lighter now, almost amused, “there’s this colleague, Megan. Every time I mention something about him leaving or canceling, she just…” Tali mimicked a soft clicking sound with her tongue, shaking her head slightly. “Like she already knows what she wants to say but doesn’t.”

Kat’s lips twitched, like she found that funny. “That’s kind of obvious.”

“Yeah,” Tali said, letting out a breath. “It is.”

A short silence settled between them.

The wind moved again, brushing past, carrying that same quiet rhythm of the ocean.

Kat looked at her again, her expression still open, still curious.

“But you still like him,” she said.

Tali nodded. “I do.”

Kat studied her for a second, like she was trying to match that answer with everything else she had just heard.

“Do they like you with him?” she asked.

Tali paused.

That one took longer.

“…No,” she said finally.

Kat didn’t say anything to that.

She just let it sit there between them.

Tali shifted her weight again, her arms crossing loosely, her gaze drifting back to the stairs, then to the path through the trees.

“I mean, he’s not… bad,” Tali said, almost like she was trying to explain something. “He’s stable. He knows what he wants. He’s clear about things.”

Kat nodded, listening.

“And he wants to get married,” Tali added quietly.

Kat’s brows lifted slightly. “That’s fast.”

Tali let out a small laugh. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

Kat took a small step closer, not too close, just enough to look at Tali more directly.

“So why are you getting married?” Kat asked.

The question was simple, almost casual, but it landed deeper than Tali expected. There was no judgment in it, no pressure, just quiet curiosity.

Tali opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Her gaze drifted without thinking, first to the stairs, straight, clear, leading exactly where they promised. Then to the path through the trees, softer, uncertain, disappearing before she could see where it ended.

She felt the weight of both, sitting somewhere in her chest.

Tali swallowed lightly, still not answering right away.

“I…” she started, then let out a breath, shaking her head slightly.

“I want to be married,” she said.

Kat waited.

Tali looked back at her.

“I don’t want to be the only one still… figuring things out,” she added, her voice softer now. “Everyone else is moving forward. Settling down.”

Kat frowned just a little. “So, it’s like… catching up?”

Tali hesitated.

“…Maybe,” she said.

Kat considered that, her gaze drifting briefly toward the paths again.

“Does it feel like that?” she asked. “Like you’re catching up?”

Tali didn’t answer.

Because standing there, between the two paths, with the wind brushing past and the sound of the ocean just out of sight, it didn’t feel like catching up.

It just felt like standing still and not knowing which way to move.

Kat shifted her weight again, her earlier confidence softening just a little. She glanced down at the ground, then back up at Tali, a small, almost sheepish smile forming.

“Hey… sorry,” she said.

Tali blinked. “For what?”

Kat shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck lightly. “I don’t really know anything,” she admitted. “I just turned eighteen. I haven’t even… done much yet.”

She let out a small breath, like she was trying to explain herself properly.

“I mean, I’m just talking,” she added. “I don’t know what it’s actually like. Your situation, I mean.”

Tali watched her, not saying anything.

Kat looked off toward the trees for a second, then back at Tali again, a little more steady now.

“But I hope…” she started, then paused, like she was choosing her words carefully.

“I hope when I get to your age, I still remember what I wanted,” she said. “Like… all the things I just said. The plans, the goals, all that.”

Tali felt that settle somewhere deep, but she stayed quiet.

Kat gave a small laugh, softer this time. “And I hope I don’t rush just because I feel like I’m supposed to.”

She glanced down at the ground again, nudging a small stone with the tip of her shoe.

“It’s like math,” she went on, her tone a little lighter now, but still thoughtful. “In school, there’s always that pressure to solve things fast, right? Like, who gets the answer first.”

Tali nodded slightly.

“But that’s not really the point,” Kat said. “You can be the fastest and still get it wrong.”

She looked back at Tali.

“The point is getting it right,” she added simply. “Being fast helps sometimes, sure… but it doesn’t guarantee anything.”

The wind moved between them again, soft and steady.

Kat gave a small shrug, like she had said her piece and didn’t want to make it bigger than it was.

“Anyway,” she said, a faint smile returning, “what do I know.”

Tali didn’t answer right away. She stood there, her eyes fixed on the lighthouse.

She didn’t move.

Her gaze followed the stairs slowly, step by step, tracing the way up, almost like she was already walking it in her head. The uneven steps, the narrow parts, the railing that didn’t look like it would hold much; it was all there, clear, direct, leading exactly where it was supposed to.

Behind her, Kat started humming.

Soft at first, then a little louder, more sure of the tune.

Tali didn’t need to turn around to know what it was.

She smiled faintly to herself.

“Single Ladies?” she said.

Kat laughed lightly. “Yeah. Don’t judge.”

“I’m not,” Tali said, still looking ahead. “I used to love that song.”

“Used to?” Kat teased. “Wow. What happened to you?”

Tali let out a small breath, almost laughing, but it faded quickly as her eyes settled back on the stairs.

Kat stepped closer, following her line of sight.

“You’re taking the stairs, aren’t you?” she said. “I mean… you keep looking at it.”

Tali didn’t answer right away.

She just stood there, her arms loosely at her sides, her mind clearly somewhere else.

After a moment, she turned slightly and looked at Kat.

“What about you?” she asked. “Which one would you take?”

Kat didn’t even think about it.

She pointed toward the path through the trees. “That one.”

Tali raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kat said, already stepping a little in that direction. “It looks nicer. Quiet. Like… I don’t know, you can just walk without thinking too much.”

Tali followed her with her eyes.

“It might not even lead up,” she said.

Kat shrugged. “Maybe. But it might.”

She looked into the trees, squinting slightly like she was trying to see past them.

“And I feel like you’d see the ocean from there,” she added. “Like somewhere in between. Not just at the top.”

Tali glanced back toward the lighthouse, then toward the trees again.

Kat smiled, a little dreamy now. “I like the ocean. The beach. It’s… calm.”

She shifted her weight, almost bouncing a little on her feet. “And maybe I’d come back another day for sunset.”

Tali looked at her. “Sunset?”

Kat nodded, her eyes lighting up. “Yeah. Can you imagine? From up there?” She pointed toward the lighthouse. “That would look insane.”

Tali let out a small breath, picturing it for a second.

Kat turned back to her, more certain now. “Yeah, I’m taking that one.”

She started walking toward the path, then paused and looked back.

“See you,” she said simply.

Tali gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

Kat took a few steps, then turned her head slightly, calling out without stopping.

“I hope you choose what makes you happy,” she said. “Life’s better that way.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “It really is.”

And just like that, she moved forward again, her steps light, almost skipping as she reached the start of the path.

She started humming again. Same tune. Same easy rhythm.

Tali watched her as she disappeared between the trees, the sound of her humming fading little by little until it was gone.

The space felt quieter after that.

Tali stood there, her eyes drifting back to the lighthouse.

She didn’t move.

Then, something dropped near her feet.

She blinked and looked down.

Her phone. Lying on the ground.

She frowned slightly and bent to pick it up, brushing her fingers along its edge as she lifted it.

When she straightened, she froze.

She was back.

Standing beside her sofa, right in the middle of her living room.

The air was still. Familiar. The faint hum of the city outside replaced the sound of the waves.

Her eyes snapped to the wall.

The painting.

The lighthouse sat still inside the frame. The two paths. The trees. Exactly as before.

Tali stood there, her phone still in her hand, her brows pulling together slightly.

“…Okay,” she murmured under her breath.

She looked down at herself, then around the room again.

“That was a dream,” she said quietly.

She let out a small breath, shaking her head.

“Did I… sleepwalk?”

Before she could think further, her phone buzzed in her hand.

A message.

She moved slowly, almost on instinct, and sat back down on the sofa, unlocking the screen.

It was from Imani.

We’re going out tomorrow. I will pick you up at 10 am.

Tali stared at the message for a second, then glanced at the time.

An hour.

It had only been an hour since Imani left.

Tali leaned back into the sofa, her gaze drifting up again, to the painting.

Still. Quiet. Unchanged.

But now, she couldn’t quite look at it the same way.

Morning came in soft and quiet, the light slipping through the curtains in a way that made the whole apartment feel slower than usual. Tali woke without an alarm, just opening her eyes and lying there for a bit, staring at the ceiling while the last pieces of sleep faded.

It took a moment before she remembered.

The lighthouse.

The wind. The sound of waves. Kat, standing there like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Tali let out a slow breath and sat up, rubbing her face lightly with both hands. “Okay,” she murmured to herself, not questioning it yet, just acknowledging that it had happened, or at least felt like it did.

She got up and headed straight to the bathroom, turning on the shower without overthinking anything. The water came down warm and steady, and she stood there longer than usual, letting it run over her shoulders, her mind drifting in and out of the memory without trying to make sense of it.

By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, it already felt a little distant. Not gone. Just… quieter.

She moved through her routine slowly. Clothes first, something simple, comfortable. Then a bit of makeup, light and easy, just enough to look put together without trying too hard. She caught her reflection for a second, tilting her head slightly like she was checking something she couldn’t quite name, then let it go.

In the kitchen, she filled the kettle and waited, leaning against the counter while the water heated. The apartment was still, the kind of quiet that didn’t press too much, just enough to let her think if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

Not yet.

She made her coffee and leaned lightly against the counter, lifting the mug to her lips. As she took a slow sip, her eyes drifted across the room and settled on the painting.

She didn’t look away right after.

Instead, she stood there, quietly drinking, her gaze moving from the lighthouse to the stairs, then to the path that disappeared into the trees. The longer she looked, the easier it was to remember how it felt standing there, the wind, the sound of waves just out of sight.

She took another sip, slower this time.

Then she exhaled softly, like she was letting the thought go, and pushed herself off the counter. She brought the mug to the sink, rinsed it under running water, and reached for the sponge, her movements returning to something more automatic.

She set the mug aside, and that was when her phone buzzed on the table behind her.

Tali turned her head slightly, water still running for a second before she reached back and turned it off.

Another buzz.

She dried her hands on a towel and walked over, picking up her phone.

A message from Imani.

I’m outside.

Tali blinked, then glanced at the time.

“Already?” she muttered, a small laugh slipping out.

She grabbed her bag, slipped on her shoes, then paused for a second as her eyes lifted, almost without thinking.

The painting.

Still there on the wall.

The lighthouse, quiet as ever. The two paths, unchanged.

Tali held her gaze there for a moment, something unreadable passing through her expression, then she shook her head lightly.

“Later,” she said under her breath.

She stepped out of the apartment and locked the door behind her.

Imani’s car was parked just outside, engine running, music playing low. Tali walked over, opened the passenger door, and slid in.

“You’re early,” Tali said as she pulled the door shut.

Imani glanced at her, one eyebrow lifting. “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” Tali said, fastening her seatbelt. “You’re usually late.”

“Wow,” Imani said, pulling away from the curb. “No good morning, just straight to calling me out.”

Tali smiled faintly, leaning back into the seat. “Good morning.”

“Too late,” Imani replied, but there was a small smile there too.

They drove off, the city already awake around them, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

Tali rested her head lightly against the seat, her eyes drifting to the window, watching the streets pass by.

Something felt different. Not big. Just enough.

The drive didn’t take long, maybe because neither of them was trying too hard to fill the silence.

The streets were already busy, people moving in and out of shops, a few students crossing the road in groups, laughter carrying faintly even through the closed windows.

Imani slowed the car and pulled over in front of a small café, the kind that didn’t try too hard to stand out but was always full anyway.

“We’re here,” she said, turning off the engine.

Tali glanced outside and nodded. “Near the park, huh.”

Imani shrugged. “Yeah. Thought something easy would be better today.”

Tali let out a small breath that turned into a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”

“A little,” Imani said, stepping out of the car.

They walked side by side toward the café, the bell above the door giving a soft chime as they entered. The place smelled like coffee and something freshly baked, warm enough to make Tali feel it in her chest.

They found a table by the window, sunlight spilling across it, and slid into their seats.

A server came by, took their orders, then left them with menus they didn’t really need.

Imani leaned back slightly, studying Tali for a second. “You’re different today.”

Tali looked up. “Different how?”

Imani tilted her head. “Quieter. But not in a bad way.”

Tali thought about that, her fingers tracing the edge of the menu.

“I think I’m just… thinking,” she said.

“You always think,” Imani replied.

“Yeah, but usually I’m trying to land somewhere fast,” Tali said, glancing out the window. “Now I’m just… letting it sit for a bit.”

Imani nodded slowly, like she understood more than she was saying.

“Did something happen?” she asked.

Tali hesitated.

For a split second, the image flashed back, the lighthouse, the wind, Kat standing beside her, humming like nothing in the world was complicated.

She shook her head lightly.

“No,” she said. “Nothing happened. I just… realized some things.”

Imani didn’t press.

“Okay,” she said simply.

Their drinks arrived, followed by food, and for a moment, the conversation shifted to easier things, work, small complaints, a story about one of Imani’s clients that made Tali laugh more than she expected.

It felt normal. Easy. But it didn’t stay there.

At some point, Tali found her gaze drifting past the window.

Across the street.

Beyond the buildings.

She couldn’t see the park from where they were sitting, but she knew it was there. Just a few blocks away. Close enough that she could walk there if she wanted.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her cup.

Imani noticed.

“You’re thinking again,” she said, not accusing, just stating it.

Tali smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

“About him?” Imani asked.

Tali shook her head slowly. “About me.”

Imani leaned forward a little, resting her elbows on the table. “That sounds promising.”

Tali let out a small breath, then looked at her.

“I think I’ve been trying to solve this like a problem,” she said. “Like there’s a right answer and I just need to get there.”

Imani raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And maybe that’s not how this works,” Tali said. “Or… maybe I’ve been rushing to an answer just because I don’t want to be the last one figuring things out.”

Imani didn’t interrupt.

Tali continued, her voice steady but softer now. “But getting there fast doesn’t mean getting it right.”

Imani’s lips pressed together briefly, like she was holding back a reaction, then she nodded once.

“Okay,” she said.

Tali laughed lightly. “That’s it? Just ‘okay’?”

“You want a speech?” Imani shot back.

“No,” Tali said quickly. “Please don’t.”

“Good,” Imani said, reaching for her drink. “Because I wasn’t going to give you one.”

They both smiled.

After a moment, Imani added, a little quieter, “I’m just… glad you’re saying things like that.”

Tali looked at her. “Like what?”

“Like you’re not forcing yourself into something,” Imani said. “That’s all.”

Tali nodded slowly, her gaze drifting again, not far this time, just to the table, to the space between them.

“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”

Outside, people passed by, conversations overlapping, life moving the way it always did.

Inside, Tali sat a little straighter, a little more present.

Not decided.

Not certain.

But no longer rushing to be.

Sunday afternoon came in warm and bright, the kind that made the park feel alive even before Tali stepped out of her car.

She parked along the south side, turned off the engine, and sat there for a second, her hands still on the wheel like she was letting everything settle.

Her phone was already in her hand. Imani was on the line.

Tali slipped on her earphones, opened the car door, and stepped out, the noise of the park rushing in, voices, footsteps, a faint laugh somewhere behind her.

“Okay,” Imani was saying, her voice tight, like she had been holding something in. “Start from the beginning. What happened?”

Tali closed the car door and started walking, her pace steady, heading toward the path that would lead to the lagoon.

“I went to him,” Tali said. “He was at a gym. With his friends.”

Imani let out a small, disbelieving breath. “Of course he was.”

Tali gave a faint smile, but it didn’t last. “Yeah.”

She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder as she walked.

“I told him we need to postpone the wedding.”

There was a short pause on the line.

“And?” Imani asked.

“He asked how long,” Tali said. “Just like that. No questions, no… nothing. Just ‘how long.’”

Imani didn’t say anything, but Tali could hear her breathing, waiting.

“I told him…” Tali paused for a second, like she was replaying it, “…that we’ll move forward when he starts treating me the way I deserve to be treated.”

The words came out steady. Not forced.

Imani let out a shaky breath. “Tali…”

Tali kept walking, her eyes forward, the path opening up ahead of her.

“He didn’t like that,” she said.

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Imani muttered.

Tali let out a small breath. “He said he wants to get married. That postponing is a waste of time.”

Imani made a small sound, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Tali said quietly. “Then he told me I need to decide quickly. That he’s not going to wait.”

That part hung in the air for a second.

Imani went quiet.

Tali stepped off the pavement and onto the gravel path, the sound of it crunching softly under her shoes.

“I didn’t expect that,” she admitted. “I mean… I knew he was like that, but hearing it like that…”

She let out a breath, shaking her head slightly.

“It felt…” she searched for the word, “…off.”

“Off?” Imani repeated, her voice rising slightly. “Tali, that’s not just off, that’s-”

“I know,” Tali said, cutting in gently.

There was a small pause.

“And then?” Imani asked, softer now.

Tali’s lips curved just slightly, not quite a smile.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Something just… clicked.”

She slowed her steps a little as the trees around the path grew thicker.

“I heard myself say it before I even thought about it.”

Imani didn’t interrupt.

“I told him we can just cancel everything,” Tali said. “The wedding. The relationship. All of it.”

Silence.

Even the noise around her seemed to pull back for a second.

“And then?” Imani asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tali let out a small breath. “I took off the ring, handed it to him, and walked out.”

A small breath left her, almost like she was still surprised by it.

“He called after me,” she added. “But I didn’t stop.”

She reached a turn in the path, sunlight breaking through the trees ahead.

“I didn’t look back.”

On the other end of the line, Imani made a sound, and then Tali realized she was crying.

“Hey,” Tali said, her tone softening. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not-” Imani tried, but her voice broke. “I’m just… wait.”

There was rustling on the other end, like she had moved the phone away.

Tali slowed her steps, giving her the space.

Faintly, she could hear Imani speaking to someone.

“Babe,” she said, her voice rushed, emotional. “I’m going out. Tali- she just-”

Her words blurred together, but Tali caught enough.

A pause.

Then a man’s voice, calm and clear.

“Go.”

A second later, his voice came through louder, closer, like he had taken the phone.

“Proud of you, Tali!” he said. “Imani will be there soon.”

Tali let out a small, surprised laugh, something warm cutting through everything else.

“Thanks,” she said, even if he might not hear it.

There was a shuffle, then Imani was back.

“Where are you?” she asked quickly.

Tali looked up, the park opening up ahead of her, the familiar stretch leading toward the lagoon.

“I’m in the park,” she said. “South side. I’m heading to the lagoon.”

“Stay there,” Imani said. “I’m coming.”

Tali nodded, even though she couldn’t see her.

“Yeah,” she said. Then, after a small pause, she added, “I’m going to see the painter too.”

“The painter?” Imani asked, confused.

“I’ll tell you when you get here,” Tali said.

She could hear Imani exhale on the other end, like she had more questions but was choosing to hold them back.

“Okay,” Imani said. “Just… stay there.”

“I will.”

The call ended.

Tali lowered her phone slowly, slipping it into her pocket as she continued walking.

Tali walked slowly toward the lagoon, the late afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the park. It was the last day of the festival, and the place was alive in a way that felt both loud and easy at the same time. Students were calling out from their booths, some trying to sell the last of their items, others just laughing with friends like they didn’t want the day to end yet.

A couple walked past her, sharing a drink, their heads close together. A group of kids ran ahead, one of them holding a balloon that kept bobbing above the crowd. Near a bench, an older man sat quietly feeding crumbs to a small dog, completely unbothered by the noise around him.

Tali moved through all of it, steady, not rushing, just taking it in as she went.

The sound of water came into view before the lagoon itself did, soft and steady, familiar.

Her steps didn’t slow this time. They felt sure. Not rushed. Just… hers.

When the lagoon came into view, she spotted the painter right away.

There were still quite a few people gathered around him, some crouched low to look at the paintings laid out on the ground, others standing, arms crossed, discussing what they saw.

Tali slowed her steps and joined the edge of the small crowd.

There were new paintings.

Her eyes moved from one to another.

The lagoon was there, painted wide and calm, the water catching light in soft strokes. A pair of swans drifted near the center, their shapes simple but alive, while a few figures stood along the edge, watching, their reflections faint in the water.

Someone picked up the painting carefully. “Look at this,” the person said to a friend. “The brushwork here, it’s crazy.”

Tali leaned in slightly, following the lines, seeing how the colors blended in ways she hadn’t noticed before.

She moved on.

There was a painting of a narrow street after rain, puddles catching bits of sky, lights reflecting in uneven shapes. Another of a woman sitting by a window, her face turned just enough to suggest she was thinking of something far away.

Tali watched people choose, hesitate, then decide. Some smiled when they paid, like they found something they didn’t expect to find. Others held onto the paintings a little longer before letting go.

By the time the crowd thinned out, the space felt quieter.

That was when she saw him clearly again.

The painter sat on his low stool, working on a new piece.

A large tree took shape on his canvas, its trunk thick and textured, branches stretching outward. Near one of the branches was a nest, small but detailed, with tiny hatchlings inside, their beaks open. Two larger birds leaned toward them, feeding them, their wings slightly spread as if shielding them at the same time.

Tali walked closer.

“Hi,” she said.

The painter looked up and smiled faintly, then set his brush down. He stood, meeting her eyes.

“You came back,” he said.

Tali nodded. “Yeah.”

A small pause.

“I’m here to pay more,” she said.

The painter tilted his head slightly. “Why?”

Tali let out a small breath, suddenly a little unsure. For a second, she thought about telling him everything, the lighthouse, the path, Kat, but she stopped herself.

Instead, she smiled a little. “Because that painting… it’s worth more than what I paid for.”

The painter watched her, quiet.

“It’s a reminder now,” she added.

“Of what?” he asked.

Tali held his gaze for a second, then said simply, “To always choose myself.”

The painter’s expression softened, just a little.

Tali reached for her wallet, starting to open it, but the painter raised a hand gently.

“You don’t need to,” he said.

Tali frowned slightly. “But-”

“It’s enough,” he continued. “Knowing it’s appreciated for what it is.”

She hesitated, then slowly closed her wallet.

The painter extended his hand.

Tali took it, their handshake firm but warm, like something was understood without needing to be said.

He gave a small nod, then sat back down, picking up his brush again like the moment had passed naturally.

Tali stayed there, watching him paint.

Ten minutes passed without her noticing.

“You really did it.”

Tali turned.

Imani stood there, a little out of breath, eyes already shining. Before Tali could say anything, Imani pulled her into a tight hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

Tali smiled into her shoulder. “Thanks.”

Imani pulled back, then her attention snapped to the paintings.

“Wait, this is the place?” she asked, stepping closer. “This is where you got it?”

Tali nodded.

Imani crouched down, looking from one painting to another. “Oh my gosh, these are amazing.”

She stood and turned to the painter. “You’re really good, you know that? Like, you should have a proper gallery. This is gallery-level.”

The painter chuckled lightly. “Maybe this is my gallery.”

Imani grinned. “Okay, fair. But still, people should be lining up for this.”

“Some already are,” the painter replied.

A few people nearby laughed.

Imani pointed at one painting. “I mean, look at this. If I had more wall space, I’d be broke right now.”

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t,” the painter said.

Tali laughed softly, and even a couple of strangers nearby joined in.

Imani shook her head, laughing. “Okay, okay, you win.”

She stood up and looked at Tali. “We should go before I actually buy something.”

Tali nodded, but before stepping away, she looked back at the painter.

“Do the path through the trees end up at the lighthouse?” she asked.

The painter paused, then looked at her.

“That’s for the person who took that path to find out,” he said.

Then he smiled slightly. “Or maybe there’s an escalator hidden somewhere.”

Tali laughed.

“Thanks,” she said.

They said their goodbyes, still smiling, and walked away from the lagoon.

The sun was lowering now, the light warmer, softer. They found themselves moving with a group of people heading east, drawn by music that grew louder with every step.

“Wait,” Tali said, looking ahead. “There’s a band tonight.”

Imani’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes.”

They reached the makeshift stage, but no one was playing yet. Music was coming from the speakers instead.

Imani started singing along right away, laughing, pulling Tali lightly. A few students nearby joined in, turning it into something spontaneous.

Tali shook her head, smiling.

Then she heard it.

“You made it!”

She turned.

Isagani stood there, guitar case slung over his shoulder, wearing a simple shirt and jeans, relaxed but bright.

Tali smiled. “Are you performing the lighthouse song?”

He grinned. “First one.”

“Nice,” she said.

“We start in about thirty minutes,” he added. “Once the sun’s down.”

He looked at her. “I saved you a seat.”

Tali blinked. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply. Then he glanced at Imani.

Tali turned. “This is Imani.”

Imani straightened slightly. “Hi.”

Isagani smiled. “I’ll get another seat.”

He gave a quick wave. “See you later.”

They spent the next half hour walking around, buying snacks, talking, laughing. By the time they got back, someone guided them to seats near the front.

Isagani was already on stage, adjusting his guitar.

He looked up and waved.

Imani nudged Tali. “Wow. VIP.”

Tali laughed. “Relax.”

They sat.

“Remember this?” Imani said. “Back in college, we’d stand the whole time.”

“Yeah,” Tali said. “Now we sit.”

“We had energy then,” Imani added.

“We still do,” Tali said.

Imani gave her a look. “Speak for yourself.”

The lights dimmed slightly.

Isagani stepped up to the mic.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice carrying easily. “First song tonight is a new one. Inspired by a painting… and a conversation.”

Tali felt Imani glance at her.

Then the first chord rang out.

Soft. Clear.

The drummer and the other guitarist stood there but didn’t join in, letting Isagani’s guitar and voice carry the space.

He began to sing.

There’s a tower by the water

But you can’t see the sea

Just the sound of something calling

From a place you’ve never been

There’s a road that goes up steady

Every step already known

And another through the silence

Where you walk it on your own

I saw you standing in the middle

Like you didn’t want to choose

Like the quiet felt too heavy

Like you had too much to lose

But you don’t have to hurry

You don’t have to get it right

You just have to know what matters

When you’re standing in that light

Tali didn’t look away.

Imani watched her, then the stage, then back at her again, a small smile forming.

Somewhere past the trees and shadows

There’s a view you’ve never seen

Not because it isn’t there

But because you’ve never been

You can take the road that’s certain

You can take the one unknown

But the only wrong direction

Is the one that’s not your own

But you don’t have to hurry

You don’t have to get it right

You just have to know what matters

When you’re standing in that light

The last note lingered.

For a second, everything felt still.

Then the applause came in, loud and warm.

Tali let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Imani leaned closer. “Okay,” she said softly. “That was good.”

Tali smiled, her eyes still on the stage.

“Yeah,” she said.

And for the first time in a long while, it felt like she wasn’t standing in the middle anymore.

She sat there a moment longer, the last notes still hanging in the air, her eyes drifting past the stage, past the crowd, and for once, she didn’t feel the need to rush past the quiet.