Archive of Our Own ^beta

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

At first, I didn’t think much of it. Why should I?
Linda was new in Portia, and on top of that, a builder. By now, the fifth one in our modest town.
So really, there was nothing special about her.

Or so I thought—until she started showing up at A&G Construction almost every day, taking on one project after another and completing them flawlessly.
May I mention in record time. She was constantly lending a hand to the townsfolk and, not least, even helped free Portia from the Mysterious Knight. She wasn’t just a builder—she was simply an all-rounder.

Her deeds impressed me significantly.
She even made time for Ginger, who was bound to the house because of her condition.
Linda would tell her about her impressions of Portia and recount her experiences as if it were a history lesson. The two of them got along splendidly, and my sister always lit up whenever she came to visit. And if Ginger was happy, then so was I. And I truly was. Yet somehow, it wasn’t enough.

Because the admiration and respect I felt for Linda slowly turned into something far more than I was willing to admit.
It wasn’t only that she helped others or Ginger—she supported me, too.
From the Azula project to the QQ weight-loss program.
Somewhere between all those meetings and the glances I secretly cast her way, I was lost.

Of course—as I said before—I didn’t think much of it.
A fleeting infatuation, something that was bound to fade away eventually. Like a sudden whim.
But reality proved otherwise. Day by day, it only grew worse, and I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t know how—and in a strange way, that frightened me.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

One evening, as I sat in the parlor before the fireplace, my thoughts lost in the flames, Ginger came quietly to sit beside me. My mind was far away.

»Brother? May I speak with you a moment?«
Her voice startled me, and I turned to look at her.
»Of course, Ginger. What is it?« She merely shook her head and laid a gentle hand upon my knee.

»I wonder rather—what is it with you, Gust?« Her words puzzled me; I furrowed my brow, uncertain of her meaning.
»I do not know what you mean, Ginger. I´m fine.«
She tilted her head, her gaze intent upon me.
»Hmm. I can see that you are fine, yes. But you are not wholly yourself.«

Ah—so she had noticed. I studied her for a moment longer, then let my eyes drift back to the fire.
»I am thinking.«
»Of what?« came her quick reply. Her hand slipped from my knee as I leaned forward, resting my arms upon them.
»Guess,« was all I said, and silence followed.

Perhaps she was turning it over in her mind—or perhaps she let it be. Either way, I welcomed the quiet. How wrong I was.
»It is Linda, is it not?« My shoulders tensed, for she had struck true.
»Mhm,« I muttered, giving the faintest of nods.

»That is wonderful!« she exclaimed. My head snapped towards her.
»Wonderful? How so?« I asked, bewildered. She merely smiled.

Honestly—my head is already overflowing with architecture and art.
There is no room left for such things. No room left for… Linda.

»I mean, is it not a beautiful thing, to be in love?« she said. I grimaced.
»It is… irritating« This time, Ginger frowned.
»Have you asked Linda to accompany you on a date, then?« I scoffed.
»No. Nor do I intend to.«

She looked at me, aghast, as if I had given her the worst news in all of Portia.
»Why not?« The answer sat half-formed on my tongue, yet at the same time eluded me. Strange. And truth be told, what business was it of hers?
»Why not?« she pressed again, more firmly now. I merely shrugged.
»I have no time for such things.«

»But you had time to follow me at every step, did you not? Gust, my brother, I have no need of a constant escort any longer. Dr. Fang’s medicine from Sandrock works wonders, and I feel better than I have in years. So please—do something with your time.«

I rolled my eyes, exasperated.
»I accompany you because I want you to be safe and well, Ginger. And I have far less free time than you may think.«
She smirked.
»And yet, you do not spend it on architecture.«
»No…« I murmured. And there it was again—that feeling. That restless pounding in my chest whenever I thought of her. Linda.

How I wished I could simply forget her. Yet even when I was alone—like now—she lingered in my thoughts, burrowed there like a tune one cannot rid oneself of. A refrain, unshakable.

The urge to be near her, to reach for her, was like a spark falling upon dry grass.
Each time she laughed, each time she bent over her workbench or leaned across the machines and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, I felt that impulse rise within me.
That longing to stretch out my hand—just a little—if only to know whether her skin was truly as soft as it appeared. But I never did.

And each time she drew too near—when her fingers, however briefly, grazed my sleeve or brushed my skin as she handed me something—something stirred in my chest. Something that felt perilously close to yearning. In moments such as these, I could not help but wonder if, on occasion, I haunted her thoughts as she haunted mine. But I did not know. And it was that very unknowing… that drove me to madness.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

The door to A&G Construction burst open, and I turned in my chair. Albert came rushing in, papers waving in his hand, a broad grin plastered across his face.

»Guess who just landed a big fish?!« he exclaimed. I raised an eyebrow in question.
»With your fishing skills, it can’t be much of a catch.« Albert rolled his eyes, still grinning, and tossed the documents onto my desk.

»Tada! Mayor Gale wants us to build a swimming pool. Right here in Portia—and if it proves popular, perhaps even in other Free Cities as well.« He beamed at me, while I leafed through the documents.
»Well? What do you say, my friend?« he pressed, eyes alight with expectation. My gaze fell again upon the papers.
»Albert, we have but a single month for this,« I replied. He only shrugged.
»Yes, and? We’ll manage it easily. And if we succeed, you might even be called to Atara. They’ll be clamoring for you!«

At this, I frowned.
»Why should I go to Atara?« He leaned against my desk, arms crossed, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.
»Why shouldn’t you? That was always your goal! You’ve a bright career ahead of you. Was it not always your dream to make a name for yourself in Atara?«

Inwardly, I sighed. He was not entirely wrong. I had wished to return to Atara, to carve out a reputation of my own. But how long would it take? Was it even worth it now? Could I not achieve the same here, in Portia?
»Besides,« Albert went on, »your sister is well again. Nothing holds you here any longer, does it?«

I grimaced slightly. That was true, at least in part. Ginger was indeed far better than before. Yet still… she was my sister. And besides—besides what?

»Perhaps, but that is—« My words faltered as the door opened once more, and Linda entered, radiant, a parcel in her hand. I nearly cursed myself for the way my eyes betrayed me, tracing her from head to toe.

»Hey, boys! Oh, and Albert, I’ve brought the gears you asked for. Though why you need so many, I can’t quite… oh.« Her gaze flicked between the two of us. »Am I interrupting?«

Albert waved dismissively, pushing himself from my desk as I set the papers aside. He took the parcel from her hands as though it were treasure unearthed from the ruins.
»Perfect—thank you, Linda! And no, you’re not interrupting at all. We were just discussing our next great project: a swimming pool here in Portia!« he explained, brimming with his usual childlike enthusiasm.

»A swimming pool?« Linda arched a brow, intrigued.
»That sounds marvelous! Though perhaps a touch too modern for our dear mayor, don’t you think?«

I could not help but smile. Of course she commented in her typical way—half teasing, half genuinely curious.
»My father wishes to keep pace with the other cities,« I explained, though my voice was calmer than I felt. She nodded approvingly.
»Not bad. I’m certainly looking forward to it. Let me guess—you’ll be designing it, won’t you?« She gave me a playful wink. Albert’s eyes darted between us.

»Of course,« I answered curtly, and her smile grew wider. The corners of my own mouth betrayed me, lifting ever so slightly, and I noticed Albert rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

»Tell me, Linda—would you have time to help us with the construction?« he asked. Her eyes lit up like stars at his words.
»Oh, I’d love to! I only have one larger commission left, but I should be finished by tomorrow. After that, I’ll be free.«
»Excellent! Let us know in the coming days, then, all right?« Albert replied.
»You can count on it. But I must be off now. See you, boys!«

Her gaze lingered on me longer than courtesy required—but I minded it not. Quite the contrary.
»Farewell, Linda,« I murmured, as she slipped through the door. Even after it closed behind her, my eyes lingered on the space she had left. And, of course, Albert noticed.

»So…« My friend drew closer, arms crossed in mock sternness.
»Could it be that you’re not hesitating to leave Portia because of Ginger, but because of Linda?«

I flinched—barely.
»What nonsense are you spouting?« I shot back quickly—perhaps too quickly.

Albert raised a brow, his grin speaking volumes.
»You looked at her as though she were a work of art. No—more than that. Are the two of you courting in secret?«

I grimaced.
»Don’t be absurd, Albert. I’ve no time for such things.«

But Albert, of course, was not about to let go.

»Oh, come on, Gust. I know you. You’re not usually this… tense.«
I frowned.
»I’m not tense.«
»No?« His eyes flicked down to my hands, still clenched tightly around my knees. With a quiet sigh, I released them.
»This has nothing to do with her. I’m just… thinking.« Which, in a way, was true.

Albert studied me like he could see right through the lie. After a moment, though, he shrugged—his way of saying he’d drop it.
»Whatever you say, Gust.« He walked over to his desk and sat down, while my gaze returned to the papers for the proposed swimming pool.

A swimming pool. Once it was built, I might see Linda in a swimsuit. If I were really lucky—in a bikini.

I pinched the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. Again, my thoughts had slipped straight to Linda. And not the kind of thoughts I should have been having.

I shook my head, trying to drive out the images, trying to focus again on what actually mattered right now: the design of the bathhouse.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

Needless to say, I had worked on the pool design late into the night. I was exhausted beyond reason, and on top of it all, I had a splitting headache. Great. Just great.

»Hoolu?« QQ nudged my leg as I stood at the front door, my hand still on the knob.
»I’m fine. Come on,« I muttered, pushing the door open and heading out with him.

All that was left was for Albert to go over the designs and give me the okay, so I could present them to my father for approval.

The morning air was cool and crisp—the familiar Portia scent of dew and forge-smoke hanging over the streets. I closed my eyes briefly, breathing deep, hoping the spring breeze might blow the pounding from my head. Of course, it didn’t.

QQ padded along beside me, his little feet making wet claps against the pavement. Somehow, it was oddly soothing. I often wondered if he understood more than people gave him credit for.

When I arrived at A&G, Albert was waiting outside, steaming cup of coffee in hand, one eyebrow raised as he took me in.
»You look like you wrestled a herd of wool llamas—and lost.«
»Feels about right,« I mumbled, stepping inside.

The designs were spread neatly across my desk. I could tell he’d already gone through them—his messy scribbles marked the margins.
»You really put in the effort,« he said, sliding the coffee toward me. »I especially like the idea with the glass roof.«
I accepted the cup gratefully.

»Do you think Linda will like the design?« I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Albert froze.
»Uh… sure. Why wouldn’t she? Why are you even asking?«
I pressed my lips together.
»Because she’ll be building it with us. Her opinion matters.«
»Aha.« Albert grinned, far too knowingly. I immediately regretted opening my mouth.

We spent the whole morning fine-tuning the plan—who would handle what, when materials would arrive, whether Gale could actually stick to the budget.
I tried to focus, but my eyes kept drifting to the door.

I hated it. I felt ridiculous. I wasn’t some lovesick teenager.

A little after noon, there was a knock before Linda poked her head inside.
»Hey, guys. Can I come in?«
Albert waved her in.
»Of course. Gust pulled an all-nighter—you get to admire the masterpiece now.«
Ugh. Did he have to exaggerate like that?

She stepped closer, and my pulse shot up to a level that probably concerned doctors. Leaning over the table, she brushed that one stubborn strand of hair behind her ear—and I stared too long. Again.

»Wow… this is impressive. Especially the layout and the way you’ve worked with natural light. This is going to be a hit. You really think of everything, Gust.« Albert nodded in agreement.
»Yep, Gust really is impressive, isn’t he?«

I chose to ignore the subtle undertone in my best friend’s voice and shrugged, pride and embarrassment bubbling inside me at once.
»I try.«

She set the plans aside carefully, then looked at me—really looked at me. Tilting her head, like I was some abstract painting she couldn’t quite decipher.
»Gust… you don’t look good. Did you even sleep?«

I was about to wave it off, deny everything, but she stepped closer.
»And you keep wincing. Do you have a headache?«

I opened my mouth to protest—because she was right—but she was already lifting a hand to my neck, her fingertips resting there just long enough to send a shiver racing down my arms.
»You’re completely tense,« she murmured, mostly to herself.

Of course I was tense. Who wouldn’t be, standing this close to her?

Before I could think, before I could stop her, she pushed gently on my shoulders.
»Sit. Just for a moment. And don’t move.«

I obeyed like I wasn’t even in control of myself, my heart hammering in my throat.

Linda stepped behind me, her hands settling firmly on my shoulders. And then she began to massage them, slow and steady, just the right pressure on every aching spot.

A choked sound escaped me before I could swallow it down. Somehow it embarrassed me—and somehow it didn’t.
»You really need to take better care of yourself,« she said softly.
»Not just plans and everyone else. You too.«

Look who´s talking. I thought but I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Her hands moved over my neck, untangling knots I hadn’t even known were there. It was heaven. And at the same time, pure hell—because I knew then and there that nothing else would ever compare to this.
To her.

How could something so simple—just a touch—feel so unbearably intimate? I felt stripped bare, as if she had laid me open. Not just the tension in my neck, but in my chest, too.

My mind screamed at me to stand up. To step away. To draw the line. To be professional. I was at work, for peach’s sake. But my body—my foolish, traitorous heart—drank in every second of her touch like parched ground drinking the first rain.

»You’re way too tense, Gust. You’re working yourself into the ground,« she murmured, her thumb pressing deeper into the muscle.

»I… was just working on a design,« I managed to force out, though even I knew how flimsy that excuse sounded. I couldn’t look at her. Not now. If I turned, there was a risk that I might—
No. Don’t think. Don’t feel. And then—there it was again. Her laugh. That soft, warm laugh that slipped through the cracks in my walls like light.
»If you keep this up, you’ll go gray before Higgins,« she teased, and to my own surprise, I actually let out a small laugh. More a flicker than a laugh, but it was there.

And as she stood behind me, giving me so much without a word while I sat in silence, in turmoil—she didn’t even know what she was doing to me. Or did she?
Part of me hoped she did. Another part of me feared it to the bone.
Because if she knew—and still touched me like this—what would that mean?

I felt my breathing slow, something inside me loosening that had been wound far too tight for far too long. And yet the restlessness remained. That nervous shiver under my skin that came not from pain, but from her.
From Linda.

Her hands lingered a moment too long on my shoulders, longer than they needed to. As if there was hesitation in her too. A pause. Maybe even an echo of what raged inside me. Slowly, she let her hands fall and stepped half a pace back.
»So… better?« she asked softly.

I finally turned, just enough to see her face. Her eyes met mine. And there was something there. Warmth. Curiosity. Maybe… maybe even a quiet reflection of what I felt.

I wanted to say something—a thank you, an apology, a confession, just anything—but the words died in my throat. Instead, I only nodded. Slightly. Far too slightly for everything I was feeling.
»A little. Yeah…«
It was all I could manage. I didn’t know what else I could—or should—say.

Linda tilted her head, her smile gentle, a little secret of its own. Then she rested her hand briefly on my arm. Just a fleeting touch—yet the spot burned long after she pulled away.
»Don’t work too late today. We still need you as an architect. So don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.«

She winked, turned, and left the room with that light, effortless step of hers—as if she had done nothing more than stir me up like autumn wind riffling through open pages.

The door clicked softly shut. I stared at it for a long time, as though I could still see her through it.
Her warmth clung to me. And something in my chest twisted tight—longing, full of contradiction.

I was lost.

Albert said nothing at first. He just gave me a side glance, raised a brow, and finally muttered dryly:
»You’re either going to talk to her—or you’re going to fall apart inside. Your choice, Romeo.«

I didn’t answer. Maybe because I already knew he was right. I skimmed the blueprints one more time, then rolled them up.
»I’m going to see my father,« I told him, standing up.
»Alright. See you soon, partner.« I didn’t comment, just left the office.

Not a hundred meters away stood my father’s town hall—convenient, at least. I stepped inside and found him behind his imposing desk. He looked up.
»Ah, Gust, my boy. What can I do for you?« I simply set the plans on his desk, and he eagerly unrolled them. His eyes darted across the pages.
»Oh! This looks excellent, Gust! You can begin construction right away if you like.« He pulled out an ink pad and stamp, pressing it down with a satisfied grunt.
»I’m proud of you, my son. You and Albert—you bring great honor to Portia.«

I nodded my thanks, but my thoughts were already elsewhere.
Or rather—with someone else.
Linda.

»We’ll start tomorrow,« I muttered, more to myself than to him as I rolled up the papers again.

My father raised an eyebrow.
»I know I don’t see as much of you as I’d like, Gust, but you seem distracted, my son. Is everything alright?«
I forced a weak smile.
»Yeah. Just a headache.«

Not anymore, not really. But the last thing I needed was my father hanging over me, offering relationship advice. That, I could not handle right now. And I was grateful when he didn’t press further.
»Very well, Gust. But if something’s wrong, you can always tell your old man, alright?« I only nodded.
»Of course. See you tonight,« I said, and left his office.

Outside, the air had grown warmer. The sun hung high above the rooftops, casting Portia in that golden light that made everything seem more peaceful.

I stopped for a moment, taking it in, thinking of what was to come.
The construction of the pool would take weeks.
Weeks of working side by side with Linda.
Weeks of forcing myself to hide what I felt.

And that’s when I realized: she would be the end of me.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

The next morning began quietly—too quietly, if you asked me. Portia was bathed in that soft, early light that made everything look like something out of a dream. Even the sounds seemed muted. QQ hopped ahead in his usual bouncing gait while I made my way slowly toward the construction site.

The spot where the pool would soon stand—just above Oaks and Papa Bear’s house—still lay in its dormant state, as if it had no idea what was about to happen to it. Rounding the corner, I saw her already, even from a distance.
Linda.

She was wearing overalls—stained, not freshly, but somehow they looked damn good on her. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot, though a few strands had already slipped free, catching the morning breeze.

She stood over the blueprints we had left there in a plastic tube, a thermos in one hand, an apple in the other. The sunlight lit her skin like warm amber.

I stopped for a few seconds, just watching her. Too long, as always.
»If you stand there any longer, I’ll start without you,« she called suddenly, without turning around.

I flinched. What was she—some kind of hound dog? Or had she grown eyes in the back of her head? At this point, nothing would have surprised me.
»I’m just enjoying the quiet,« I muttered, finally stepping closer.
She laughed. And stars above, the sound was tempting.
»Yeah, because it’s about to get busy.«

Linda handed me the apple without a word. I took it, though I wasn’t the least bit hungry—if she had handed me a pebble, I would’ve taken that too. As long as it came from her.
Five minutes later, Albert showed up with a handful of workers.
»Ready for the first dig, Gust?« Linda asked, this time quieter.
»More ready than ever,« I replied with a nod.

And so we began. The first markers were set, the ground surveyed, the soil loosened. Albert drifted between chatting with Linda and talking to me, eventually launching into a speech about the material list he had so »wisely« adjusted in advance. Normally, his rambling would have worn on me after a while.

But not today. Not when she was here.
Always close. Always just half a step away.
And yet—completely out of reach.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

A week and five days later.

The pool construction was going better than I’d expected—which was rare enough in itself.
We were more than halfway done. The foundation was set, the first water pipes laid, the glass roof mounted, and the shape of our plans was finally starting to take form.

It was exhausting. Physically, mentally—and emotionally, without question.
Because Linda was there every day. Early, motivated, with tools on her belt and that smile that knocked the ground right out from under me, every.single.time.

And no—I hadn’t said anything to her all week. Not really.
We only exchanged words when it had to do with work.
Just a few unspoken glances. A few touches that lingered too long to be accidental.

That evening, Albert had invited us to the Round Table.
His personal way of saying thanks: a relaxed night at the restaurant with good food, cards, a glass of desert wine—everything to dull the week’s frustrations.

As promised, we met in front of the Round Table. I was already sitting on one of the benches inside, next to Albert, who was bouncing his foot impatiently.
»She’s coming, right?« he asked for the third time.
»She said she would,« I replied. He grinned.
»So you want her to come.«
I clenched my jaw.
»I said she said she would.«
Albert raised both hands.
»Alright, alright. You’re extra touchy today, man. Hormones?«

I was about to fire back something sarcastic when the words died in my throat. Linda stepped through the door, and I swear even the wind held its breath.

She wore a simple black skirt—far too short for my already unstable mind. A white blouse with fine ruffles, which might’ve looked overly sweet if not for the confident way she carried herself. And then… the black overknees.
Those damn overknees.

I swallowed. My thoughts—as an architect, planner, master of structure—collapsed.
»Oh,« Albert said flatly. »You’re head over heels.«
»Shut it. You know nothing,« I muttered—about as convincingly as QQ pretending he’s full.

Linda came over, slightly out of breath but smiling.
»Sorry! Had to finish a quick job, take a shower, and—well, here I am!« She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and suddenly my throat felt drier than Higgins’ sense of humor.
»You look…«

I had to stop, had to remind myself not to stare.

Don’t stare.
Don’t stare.
Don’t stare!

»…relaxed.«
Brilliant, Gust. Relaxed. How poetic. Maybe I should write her a sonnet about the functionality of screws and their hidden beauty.

Albert snorted into his glass while Linda slid into the seat beside me—close enough for me to catch her scent. Soap, sweet with a hint of sandberry.

»Was that supposed to be a compliment?« she asked, amused.
I shrugged.
»Maybe.«

She grinned. Her skirt rode up just a little as she sat, nearly short-circuiting my nervous system. I was dying inside. Outwardly, I prayed I looked at least somewhat composed.

Albert shot me a knowing look.
»Well, I’ll… just grab us some drinks. Be right back!«

I barely shook my head. I knew exactly what he was doing—giving us space. Linda didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she ignored it on purpose. Either way, she was in good spirits. She rested her chin on her hand and looked at me.
»You know, Gust… I think I finally figured something out about you.«
»What?« I asked carefully.
»What you really notice. It’s not symmetry…«

I frowned.
»Oh? Then what is it?«

She leaned a little closer.
»It’s thighs.«

My heart stopped. I blinked, not sure if she had actually just said those words. I stared at her, while she grinned—bold and mischievous. I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Rough, confused, more like a snort than anything else. Anything to cover the truth.
»Very funny, Linda.«

She pursed her lips, as if unsure whether to push further. Looked away briefly—and from the corner of my eye I saw Albert heading back.
»I mean it,« she whispered, before leaning back just as Albert arrived with the drinks.

He set them down, glancing between us.
»What did I miss?«

I didn’t answer. I expected Linda to crack a joke—»thighs« or something equally cheeky—to lighten the mood in her favor. But instead, she took a sip of her wine, looked at me with a playful, almost shy expression, and said nothing.
»Nothing. So, Albert, what kind of wine did you bring?« she asked smoothly.

The corner of my mouth twitched upward.

Albert grinned wide at her question and launched into a full speech about why he had chosen this particular vintage, gesturing wildly, which made Linda laugh.

While he talked, his voice faded into background noise. All I really heard, all I really saw, was Linda. Her eyes—steady, yet sparkling with mischief. Her smile—so bright the sun itself would pale with envy.

Her presence pulled at me like gravity, holding me in place. Albert went on about tannins like he’d suddenly become a wine merchant instead of a foreman. Linda nodded politely, but her gaze drifted back to me again and again.

Moments like these reminded me with perfect clarity what I felt for her. How deeply I felt it.
And that, no matter how much I tried to downplay it, my pride was still bigger than I liked to admit.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

Fifteen days later, 8 p.m.

Albert clapped me on the shoulder as if I’d built the whole thing myself. We had actually done it—we’d finished the project within the deadline. Standing in front of the pool hall, I couldn’t have been prouder—not just of myself, but of us.

Tomorrow would be the grand opening, the inauguration of Portia’s new bathhouse. I was nervous, but at the same time deeply satisfied with what we had created. Beside me, Albert stretched and yawned.
»Man, I’m wiped,« he sighed. »And I still have to hand the keys over to Mayor Gale. All I wanna do is fall into bed and let Sonia fuss over me.«

I rolled my eyes and held out my hand.
»Give me the keys. I’ll see my father anyway.«
In a flash, he pressed them into my palm, waving as he turned to leave.
»You’re the best, Gust! I’m out. See you tomorrow, buddy!«

I lingered a moment longer, the keys heavy in my hand, my gaze drifting up to the glass roof. Through the panes, the water shimmered like liquid moonlight.

The past days played through my mind like a ribbon of work and brief pauses: early mornings on-site, late nights leaving, endless lists, measurements, discussions. And yet I had carved out little islands for myself. Two evenings by the Portia River, brush in hand, capturing the water’s skin in blue and brass. Three long walks through the fields with QQ, his content squeaks in rhythm with my steps. A stroll with Ginger, arm in arm, her cheerful voice carrying a story from her latest book while I let her words linger inside me.

And always, there was Linda. Appearing without warning—with a question, a spare part, a laugh that stayed even after she’d gone. Her eyes, impossibly beautiful, always carrying that warmth—almost affection—that made my heart race.

I was starting to wonder if simply watching her would ever be enough.
Because honestly—it wasn’t. Not even close.

»Gust?«

Her voice pulled me back. I turned. Linda stood in the glow of the lantern, a light jacket over her shoulders, her hair half-loose as if she’d hurried to get here. In her hand, a small paper bag, the corner of a cake slice bleeding grease through the paper.

»Surprise,« she said, her smile exactly that. »I was at Martha’s bakery and she shoved this into my hands with the words: ‘Bring it to the boys who built that glass miracle.’«

I cleared my throat, stepping aside so she could see the hall. Behind the tall panes, the pool slept in the dark, the surface black as ink.
»We really did it,« she murmured. »It’s beautiful, Gust.«

Something in me went light.
»Thanks,« I managed. »We…uh, we did our best.«

She snorted softly.
»Well, without your design, it wouldn’t look nearly this dreamlike.«

We fell quiet for a moment. Then she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, glanced at the building, and twisted her mouth into a half-playful, half-genuine pout.
»Shame I won’t get the pleasure of using the pool alone at the opening.« Her eyes slid back to me, sharp, bright, and challenging.
»I like it best when water doesn’t belong to anyone yet.«

I nodded slowly.
»Relatable.«

A battle stirred in me: reason against impulse, duty against an idea that smelled of rebellious summer, though autumn had already set in. A smile crept onto my face—the kind I usually wore only when a design turned out exactly right.
»Mh. We could… test it,« I heard myself say.

Her eyebrow arched, her lips twitching.
»Oh yeah? And how do you imagine that?«

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I pulled my hand from my pocket, the keys dangling from the ring, catching the lantern light, jingling softly. I held them up, letting the metal dance. A smug grin tugged at my mouth.
»Like this.«

Linda laughed quietly—that laugh that always set my pulse in order and chaos at the same time.
»Gust… you can’t be serious…«
»I’m serious,« I said.

»And here I thought you were a goody two shoes.«

I arched a brow at her, incredulous.
»Well… that would be boring, wouldn’t it?« Out of reflex, I winked at her—then cleared my throat, embarrassed.
»If anyone asks: just a quick functionality test. For safety, you know. Before handover.« I tried to sound businesslike, but my voice betrayed me.

She stepped closer, the faint scent of soap, wood, and machine oil weaving between us.
»Functionality test, huh? Very professional. So maybe you are a goody two shoes after all?«

This time I rolled my eyes as she giggled.

»I’m an architect. Professionalism comes naturally,« I said, and she rolled hers in return, amused.

For a heartbeat we stood there, close enough for me to see the delicate shadow of her lashes. Then Linda nodded—barely, but decisively—like she’d just finished an inner sketch.
»Alright then, Master Architect. Show me how your creation feels.«

I moved to the door, the lock clicking open with the first turn.

Inside, the air carried the scent of new stone, fresh paint, and that distinct smell of pool halls—tiles, anticipation, and the faintest trace of chlorine. I switched on the service lighting—not the full flood of brightness, just thin lines of soft glow that turned the water’s surface into a sheet of silver.

Linda stepped up beside me, laid her hand flat on the railing, and let out a quiet breath.
»You really did it,« she whispered. »It’s so beautiful.«

I felt my smile soften. Outside, the city stayed wrapped in night; inside, the hall seemed to hold its breath. QQ wasn’t here, Ginger was at home, Albert probably already half-asleep—and for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like running anymore. It felt like arriving.

»Just five minutes,« I said, not sure if I was trying to reassure her or myself.
»Five,« she confirmed—and in her eyes, something flickered that betrayed the number.

I closed the door behind us. By then Linda was already crouched at the pool’s edge, dipping a fingertip in to test the water. She glanced up at me with a grin that said she’d been waiting for this.
»Just so you know,« she said casually, slipping her jacket off her shoulders, »I’ve been wearing a bikini under all this. Honestly, I was kind of counting on you to let us in.«
She winked. »And if not—well, I’m a builder. I’d have found my own way.«

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes—and grinning wider than I should. »Of course you would.«

Her skirt and blouse slid to the floor with a soft rustle—and there she was. Confident. Athletic. The water in front of her pulling at her like a magnet. Before I could say anything remotely clever, she pushed off—a clean arc, then a soft splash.

The hall swallowed the sound and gave it back as silver ripples across the water.

I exhaled without realizing I’d been holding my breath. I was really alone with Linda. No crowd. Just Linda—in a bikini—swimming in my design of glass and echo. Something inside my chest grew warm and steady.

She surfaced, swept her hair back from her face, and swam a few relaxed strokes before stopping at the edge in front of me.
»Come on, Gust. Join me.«

I shook my head, raising a hand in apology.
»Unlike you, I didn’t come prepared.«

Her eyes gleamed, teasing, challenging.
»Then there’s always skinny dipping.« She bit her lower lip playfully. »Or are you scared?«

»Not scared—just… some healthy self-respect,« I said—too quickly, too seriously. I had to suppress a crooked grin.
»Maybe more afraid of the headline: ‘Mayor’s Son Caught Without Swimwear.’«

»Pfft.« She propped her elbows on the edge, chin resting on her hands.
»All I see is an empty hall, a service light, and an overworked architect who badly needs a swim.«
I folded my arms across my chest, a shield against her words, her smile, the temptation she was.
»I don’t think so, Linda.« My voice sounded firmer than I felt. She pursed her lips, blinking at me, eyes bright with challenge—then tilted her head, as if a wicked idea had just struck her.
»Fine. But if you won’t come… I’ll just drown. In five seconds.«

I stared at her, stunned.
»What?«

»Five.« She pushed off the wall, gliding toward the center of the pool.
»Linda, that’s not funny.«
»Four.« Her grin was playful, but there was a glint in her eyes that both thrilled and unsettled me.
»You’re exaggerating.«
»Three.« She floated onto her back, drifting gently, as if her body itself counted down the seconds.
»Linda!« I stepped forward, the water shimmering with small waves.
»Two.« Her gaze fixed on me—bright, provoking—and my heart slammed twice as fast.
»One.« She giggled, twisted, and slipped beneath the surface—far too suddenly.

My breath caught. At first I thought it was another tease. Just another game.

But then—one second. Two. Three. No splash, no laughter, no Linda.

»Linda?!« My voice echoed through the hall. The water answered with silence. Then—a flicker beneath the surface. A movement, awkward and totally wrong. No graceful stroke—she was flailing, fighting.

»Damn it!« The curse tore from me. Shoes and socks off in a rush, jacket stripped and dropped, the clatter of keys lost as I launched myself into the pool.

The water was shockingly cold, knocking the air from my lungs—but all I felt was the pounding in my chest. I dove, saw her hair like a dark veil, saw the strain twisted across her face. Her hands clawed uselessly at the water.

I grabbed her, wrapped an arm tight around her waist, and kicked hard for the surface.

We broke through, air roaring louder than ever. Linda gasped, choking, clinging instinctively to my shoulder.
»I… cramp,« she panted, between breaths. »My calf—«

»It’s alright, I’ve got you.« My voice came rough, lower than usual. I held her so tightly there could be no doubt. A few powerful strokes and I had us at the edge, pushing her up until she found her grip.

She slumped against the side, water streaming down her skin, her chest rising and falling fast.
»By the stars… you jumped,« she rasped.

»Of course I jumped!« It came out sharper than I meant—fear still rattling in my bones.
»You really think I’d just watch?!«

Her eyes locked on mine—and there it was. A flicker that said more than words. Gratitude. Relief. And something deeper that tightened my throat.

»Thank you,« she whispered. Then she laughed—weak, but genuine.

I pulled her closer, arm still locked around her, just to be sure she was here, safe. The thought of letting go felt unbearable. A rough cough scraped my throat.
»Five minutes are up. We’re leaving.«

She nodded, and together we climbed out, dripping, the hall echoing with the aftermath of splashing and ragged breaths. Linda clung to the edge, and I instinctively reached for her arm to steady her.

»Come on,« I murmured without thinking. My jacket lay on the floor; I scooped it up and draped it over her shoulders. Water ran from my hair down my neck. She was smaller than me, swallowed almost whole in the fabric.

»Gust… you’re soaked,« she whispered, embarrassed—as if skinny dipping hadn’t been far worse.

»Doesn’t matter,« I said shortly. »I’ll take you home.«

We left the pool hall, the keys jingling in my hand again—this time muffled, heavier. The night air was crisp, the wind cool against my skin, but Linda pulled her hands deeper into my jacket and tugged the collar closer around herself. I walked beside her, my wet shirt clinging uncomfortably to me, but I didn’t care.

We avoided Portia’s streets and crossed the meadow instead. When we reached her door, we stopped.

I wanted to say something—anything to break the silence, to fill it, to give it meaning. But the words stuck in my throat. So I settled on the safest thing I could think of.
»Well… good night, Linda. Sleep well.«

I took a step back, about to turn away—when she gently laid a hand on my forearm.
»Gust, wait!«

I froze, met her eyes. She wasn’t playful, not teasing like usual. Her gaze was soft, dim, almost fragile. A small, tired smile flickered across her lips.
»I… um… good night, Gust,« she said quietly. »And… thank you. For saving me.«

Her fingers slipped away, slowly, almost reluctantly.

I only nodded—unable to say more without my voice betraying me. She slipped inside, the door closing softly behind her.

I stood there a moment longer in the glow of her porch light, my wet hair plastered to my forehead, the cold seeping through my clothes—while in my chest, a fire burned that I could no longer deny.

I was hopelessly, irreversibly in love with Linda.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

The opening went smoothly. Gale gave a speech, filled—as always—with far too many flowery words, while Albert basked in every pat on the shoulder. I stood beside him, hands clasped behind my back, letting my gaze wander over the new pool hall. The gleam of the glass roof, the gentle sound of water—it was our work, alive and complete.

The people of Portia were thrilled. Children crowded around the edge, adults nodded in approval. Even Higgins had to admit it was »pretty decent«—which, from him, was practically a compliment.

And Linda?
She was there, of course. But something about her was different. Her smile lingered, but it was quieter than usual. The sharp little jabs she usually tossed at me so effortlessly never came. Instead, she kept avoiding my eyes, and when they did meet, she blushed faster than I’d ever seen before. Once, she even tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, though it had already been pinned in place.

I could’ve sworn the events of last night—the secret »function test« and what had almost happened—were weighing on her just as much as they were on me.

The celebration stretched into the evening. Laughter, music, Sonia passing around drinks, Martha bringing out trays of pastries. Albert pulled me into conversation more than once, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Linda.

She stood in the middle of the crowd, yet somehow seemed far away.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

Five days later

I woke with a dull pounding in my head. Nose blocked, throat raw—I knew right away: I’d caught a cold. I groaned quietly as I dragged myself out of bed. QQ was curled at the foot of it, snoring softly, completely unfazed by my misery.

Slowly, I shuffled into the living room. Ginger sat at the table with a book in front of her, but the moment she saw me, she set it aside. Her brow creased with worry.
»Gust… you look awful.«
»Thanks,« I muttered hoarsely.

She stood and came toward me, an envelope in her hand—something she’d clearly been holding for a while. »This… came for you this morning. From Atara.«
»Atara?« She nodded.

I took the envelope, broke the seal, and skimmed the elegant handwriting. The further I read, the heavier my stomach felt. My chest, too.

The letter was from Verna. My old mentor. The woman who’d first opened doors for me in Atara. It wasn’t a kind offer—it was almost a summons. She wrote of a position, a project waiting for me, full of words like duty, responsibility, and an opportunity you cannot refuse.

I lowered the letter. It was one of the things I’d wanted most. Everything I’d worked toward. If I went to Atara, I could rise. Soon even call myself Master. And yet, her expectations pressed down on me like a weight before I’d even finished reading.

»She wants me to come back to Atara,« I said flatly.

Ginger tilted her head, her eyes searching mine.
»And… will you?«

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I looked out the window, over Portia’s rooftops, the morning sun gliding across them. I saw the pool hall in my mind’s eye, the one we’d just finished. The laughing children. Linda’s face, blushing whenever she met my gaze. I cleared my throat, which turned into a ragged cough.
»I don’t know.«

But I did. Deep down, I already knew. Atara might shine with all its possibilities—but my heart belonged somewhere else now.

I pressed the paper against my chest, harder than I meant to.
»I’m going to work. See you later,« I said, turning away.
»Brother… you should lie down,« she said softly as I reached for my jacket.
»I have work to do,« I replied curtly, avoiding her eyes.
She stepped closer, laid a hand on my arm.
»Please, Gust. Just rest one day. You look…« Her voice faltered. »…like you’re about to collapse.«

I slipped out of her grasp, forcing a smile that didn’t convince her.
»I’ll be fine. Albert’s waiting.«
Before she could protest again, I opened the door. QQ followed me out, though even his usual eager squeaks sounded subdued today.

At A&G, it was quieter than usual. Albert was already at his desk, head buried in paperwork. He looked up as I entered—and his expression changed instantly.
»By the relics, Gust… you look like hell.«
»Good morning to you, too,« I muttered, dropping the envelope on the table and ignoring the comment. Albert raised a brow, picked it up, and skimmed the lines. The further he read, the more his mouth curved.
»Atara,« he said. »A major project. With Verna! She wants you back.« He lowered the letter and grinned. »Didn’t I tell you, Gust!? Congratulations! This is your dream, Gust. Your name carved in stone in Atara. No—soon in all the Free Cities!«

I didn’t respond. My eyes drifted to the blueprints still spread across the tables—the pool, our pool, which had opened its doors just five days ago. New designs waiting to be built.

Albert frowned when he noticed my silence.
»What the… shouldn’t you be over the moon right now? Instead, you look like you’re leading a funeral procession.«

I exhaled heavily, rubbing my temples.
»I’m going to turn it down.«
It was the first time I’d said it out loud—and even to me, my voice sounded strange.
Albert blinked, then laughed in disbelief.
»Turn it down? Gust, this is Atara. Atara! Your life’s dream, your goal for years.«
I lifted my head, met his eyes. There was no room left for laughter, only this quiet, immovable certainty.
»Maybe it was my dream once. But not anymore.«

Albert opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. His grin faded into something more serious, almost thoughtful. He studied my face, and I knew he saw it. The exhaustion. The conflict. And maybe the truth between the lines—the reason that didn’t live in Atara, but here, in Portia.

»Damn, Gust,« he muttered at last. »You really are in love with Linda, aren´t you? Have you told her yet?«

I didn’t answer. Instead, I picked up the letter, folded it once, twice, until the seal cracked, and slid it back into the envelope.
»I’ll write Verna that I’m staying,« I only whispered.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

The day slipped by faster than I liked. Maybe because I forced myself not to take a break. Maybe because I didn’t want to admit that every step grew heavier, every breath burned. My forehead felt hot, my eyelids weighed a ton. But I clenched my teeth, as if I could push the weakness aside by sheer will.

Of course Albert noticed. By mid-morning, while I sat hunched over the plans, he thumped me on the back with his usual force.
»You look like you’ve just been trampled by a herd of yakmels, partner. Slow down.«
I brushed it off with a crooked smile.
»I’m fine.«
I wasn’t. But he didn’t need to know that.

By evening, when we left the office, he still dragged me along to the Round Table.
»Come on, Gust. If you won’t listen to me, at least listen to your growling stomach. A proper dinner cures more than those damn headaches of yours.«

So I followed him. We found a table near the windows, and Django brought us two steaming bowls of stew with his usual cheerful grin. I ate slower than usual, the hot food soothing but doing nothing to clear the haze in my head.
Albert, on the other hand, chattered on in his normal way—clients, new requests, and some bizarre ideas Higgins had apparently submitted to the mayor.

I nodded, threw in the occasional »Mhm« or »Interesting,« but my mind drifted. The stew warmed my stomach while the chill from a few nights ago still clung to my bones.

Just as Albert was launching into a story about a particularly stubborn client, the door to the Round Table opened. Sonia walked in—not working this time, but privately—and with her was Linda.

It took me less than two seconds to notice her. My pulse spiked instantly as I watched them scan the room. When Linda’s eyes found mine, she froze for the briefest moment, as though surprised to see me. Then she came straight toward us.

»Well, look who is also here!,« Sonia called cheerfully. »We thought you’d be working overtime again.«

Albert laughed, waved them over, and slid down the bench to make room. Linda sat right next to me, and immediately the warmth of her presence made my fevered body tighten even more.

She only looked at me for a moment—but that one glance was enough. Her smile faded slightly as her eyes swept over my face, studying probably the pale skin, the flushed cheeks, the dull expression. She leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper meant for me alone.
»Gust… you’re not feeling well, are you?«

I wanted to wave it off, mumble some excuse—but then she leaned closer still, so near I could feel her breath against my ear.
»This is my fault, isn’t it?« she whispered, and my chest constricted.
»Because I talked you into it. I’m sorry.«

I closed my eyes briefly. Her words, her closeness—they cut straight through the walls I’d spent all day trying to keep intact.

When I looked at her again, her gaze was full of regret and warmth all at once.
»Linda…« I began, but my voice was hoarse, broken. I had to cough before I could continue.
»You don’t have to blame yourself.«

Albert shot us a knowing side glance but pretended to be too absorbed in his stew to comment. Sonia, meanwhile, busied herself setting down glasses and pulling the attention of the room toward her.

But for me, in that moment, there was only Linda—and the quiet guilt in her eyes, which weighed almost heavier than the fever tightening in my chest.

The evening at the Round Table dragged on. The voices of the guests blurred together, the clinking of glasses mingled with the sizzle from the kitchen. Albert was already deep in conversation with Sonia, while the stew in front of me had gone lukewarm.
I forced myself to lift a few more spoonfuls, but my body resisted. Dizziness crept up on me like fog, my temples pounding with every heartbeat.

»Gust?« Linda’s voice pulled me back. I looked up, tried to smile—but it came out more like a twitch of my lips.
»I’m fine. I… just need a moment.« My words sounded fractured.

I pushed myself up, almost stumbled into her, muttered an apology, and made for the men’s room.

Cold water at the sink gave me a few seconds of clarity before the haze rushed back in, heavier than before. I braced myself against the edge, forcing my breathing into steady rhythm.

When I opened the door, Linda was waiting outside.

Her hands were clasped, her index fingers fidgeting against each other.
Her gaze flicked up at me as if she’d gathered courage she usually never lacked.

»Gust…« she began, her voice softer, more hesitant than I’d ever heard it.
»Can you come outside with me for a minute? There’s… something I want to tell you. Alone.«

I nodded silently. Words were too hard to find.

We stepped out of the warmth of the tavern into the cool night air. She stopped just beyond the entrance, turned toward me. Her breath rose in faint clouds beneath the glow of the streetlamp.

»It’s… something I’ve been carrying for a while,« she began.
Her fingers tangled together again, eyes dropping briefly to the ground before meeting mine.
»Maybe it´s not a good time, but I meant to tell you much earlier, but—«

The rest of her words dissolved into a hum, drowned by the ringing in my head. The lamp above us blurred, her face wavered in a swirl of light and shadow. A dull blow pounded behind my eyes, and my balance faltered.

»Gust?« she cried, startled, stepping toward me.

I wanted to answer. I wanted to hear what she had to say. I wanted… just to stand there with her.

But the world spun, faster, unstoppable. My legs buckled.

The last thing I felt was Linda’s warm hand grabbing my arm, the terror on her face—
and then the darkness swallowed everything.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

Slowly, as though rising out of a deep fog, I came back to myself.
My head no longer felt like solid lead, my limbs no longer so heavy. The pounding pain that had brought me to my knees was now just a faint echo, fading away. I blinked. Above me was the familiar ceiling of my room.
The dim afternoon light streamed through the skylight, cutting pale stripes across the wooden floor.

QQ was curled in his basket, snoring softly. On the little table beside my bed sat a bowl of fresh fruit and a glass of water.

I pushed myself up. The blanket slid from my shoulders as I sat on the edge of the bed, pausing for a moment. Everything felt lighter. My chest was clear, my head sharper. I took a deep breath. Yes, I was definitely better.

Just as I tried to gather my thoughts, voices drifted through the door. Muffled, but clear enough to recognize.
Ginger’s voice—and Linda’s.

I froze.

»…I picked it up, Ginger,« I heard Linda say quietly.
»The letter. He dropped it yesterday when he collapsed.«

A pause. Then her voice again, tighter, uncertain:
»I couldn’t help it… I read it. Ginger, he’s going to Atara.«

My heart lurched. The letter. Damn it…
My sister laughed softly, almost gently.
»No. I don’t think he will.«
»You sound so sure.« Linda’s voice wavered, barely.
»Maybe you’re just saying that to comfort me. Everything in this letter screams that he’ll leave Portia. Atara… that’s his dream. He told me that once.«

»I think it was his dream,« Ginger tried to correct, her tone firm, unshakable.
»He’s here. And he’ll stay. You can ask him yourself.«

Silence. Then Linda’s whisper:
»But then he’ll know I read it.«

»No—you can say you heard it from me. Or from Albert. I’m certain he’s already told Albert.«

Another hush, then low murmurs I couldn’t make out.

»You mustn’t.« Ginger’s voice now serious, insistent.
»You’ll only be making things harder for yourself. You—«

The voices stopped abruptly as I coughed—choking stupidly on my own saliva.

A heavy silence filled the hall. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Then the door handle turned.

The door opened—and there they were. Ginger, worried but smiling faintly. And Linda—her eyes glowing with uncertainty, warmth, and something unspoken all at once.

They stepped in, almost together.

»How are you, brother?« Ginger asked.
»Better,« I answered simply.

She came closer, laid her cool hand against my forehead.
»You gave us quite a scare yesterday. Dr. Xu even had to come by and give you medicine.«

Linda lingered by the door, arms folded as though holding herself back from coming nearer. But her eyes betrayed her—far more than she probably meant them to.She had been acting differently for a few days now.
Not strange exactly—but different from how she usually was. As if she were afraid to be near me.

I cleared my throat.
»Hey.« My voice was still hoarse, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Linda.

At last she stepped closer, fussing with the fruit bowl as if that were the reason she was here. Than she glanced at me.
»You do look better. But you should still take it easy.«

Her voice was steady, but I caught it—the faint tremor. I heard it. I heard her.

Ginger inhaled audibly, glanced between us as if she had seen something. Then she folded her hands together.
»Well… I think I’ll go downstairs and fetch Gust something to eat.«

»Ginger—« I started, but she only smiled gently, raising her hand to quiet me.
»I’ll be right back.«

And with that, she slipped out.

The silence that followed was almost tangible.

I turned back to Linda.
»How… did I actually get home? I only remember the Round Table… and then nothing.«

Linda’s gaze dropped to the floor, then back up.
»Albert carried you on his back. You were unconscious. Dr. Xu came by and gave you medicine. Without it, you’d probably still be lost in the fever.«

She sighed softly, fingers restless along the hem of her sleeve.
»It was… really hard seeing you like that, Gust.«

Her honesty struck me—gentler, deeper than I expected.

»I...uh...Thank you… for being here,« I murmured, not really sure what to say exactly.

For a moment, there was nothing but that quiet thread between us—unsaid, but insistent. Then Linda lifted her head, her eyes serious, almost fragile.

»Gust…« she began, hesitated, as if arranging her words before letting them fall.
»Tell me honestly… are you going to Atara?«

The question hung between us—heavy as lead, clear as glass. I knew then she’d read the letter. The real question was whether I’d confront her about it, or let it go. Whether we’d keep circling around the truth—or face it head on.

My pulse quickened, but not from illness this time. I looked at her—and I knew my answer wasn’t just about my future. It was about what could grow here, between us, in this room.

I held her gaze.
»Whether I go to Atara…« I let the words come slowly, so they wouldn’t sound like an excuse.
»That depends on whether my new dream bears fruit.«

A faint crease formed between her brows. She blinked, uncertainty flickering across her face.
»Your… new dream?« she echoed.
»Gust, what do you mean—«

»Later.« I raised a hand—not to push her back, just a soft pause. My throat felt dry. If I said too much now, I’d hide behind words again. My voice came out quieter than I meant.

I shifted higher on the bed, until I was level with her.
»First, tell me what you wanted to say to me last night. Outside the Round Table. Before…« I gave her a crooked smile, gesturing toward the blanket. »…before my dramatic exit.«

She drew in a breath, held it for a heartbeat, as if gathering courage. Her mouth opened, closed again. Her eyes flicked to mine, searching to see if I truly wanted to hear it. Her fingers twisted together unconsciously. Then she nodded.

»I wanted to tell you,« she began—and this time her gaze didn’t waver, »that I—«

A sharp crash tore through the hallway, followed by a startled »Oh no!« and the dull thud of a bowl shattering. Thin soup-smell—herbs and something hearty—seeped under the door almost instantly.

»Ginger!« I lurched up on instinct. The sudden motion sent black dots swimming at the edges of my vision, the floor tilting slightly left. Linda was faster—her hand caught my elbow, steady, warm.
»Easy.« She pressed me gently back down onto the bed.
»I’ll go check on her.«

The door swung open before she could move. Ginger stood in the frame, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. A ladle dangled uselessly from her hand, soup dripping from its edge. Behind her: a golden puddle spreading across the floorboards, white porcelain shards scattered like a broken river.

»I’m so sorry!« she gasped, panic flickering in her eyes.
»My hand trembled and—«

»It’s fine,« Linda cut in quickly, already slipping into the hall. She crouched, gathering the larger pieces with practiced care. »Stay back, Ginger. You’ll cut yourself.«

»I’ll get the broom,« my sister muttered, still flustered, and hurried off toward the kitchen. Her footsteps clacked, followed by the rustle of cloth and the dull sound of a drawer opening.

I rubbed a hand across my forehead. The small chaos had shaken the last bit of weakness awake in me—but also the tension that had been hanging between Linda and me, finally about to find words. I leaned forward, reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, and took a sip.

Linda stepped back into the room, wiping her fingers on a cloth. A crooked smile at me, then a quick, assessing glance to make sure I hadn’t tried anything foolish.

»I didn’t mean to…« Ginger started from the doorway, broom in hand.
»I’ll bring fresh soup. And bread. Two slices. No—three.« She nodded to herself, convinced, and hurried off again—this time careful not to drop another thing.

Silence settled. Only QQ’s distant squeaking drifted in, no doubt drawn to the scent.

»I… have to go,« Linda said suddenly.

My head snapped toward her.
»Wait—what?« The word came out harsher than I intended. Because I still wanted to pick up the conversation we’d had before. I wanted to know what she’d been trying to tell me—because the way she carried herself, it seemed like it was something important.

She didn’t flinch from my gaze, but her fingers worked nervously against each other.
»I still have a commission to finish. I should get it done soon.«

I wanted to answer, to hold her back, to force the words from her—the ones she’d nearly said twice now and swallowed both times. But my throat locked.

Linda bit her lip, eyes soft with apology.
»I’ll come back later. I promise.«

Then she turned. Before I could react, she was already at the door. The handle dipped, a faint smile ghosted across her face—uncertain, almost wistful—then she was gone.

The silence she left behind was almost physical. I stared at the closed door.

Part of me wanted to get up, to call her back. But my body was too weak, my head still fogged. So I stayed. And the only thing raging in me was the wild urge not to let her go.
But she had. And her promise to return felt more like a faint echo—one already slipping out of reach.

Because she didn’t come back.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

Several days passed as I slowly recovered from the cold. The cough had almost faded, my limbs no longer felt like lead, and I was finally back in my usual seat at A&G Construction.
Since that fateful morning, I hadn’t seen Linda.
Not in the city, not even a fleeting glimpse that might have given me a clue as to what she thought or felt. Her absence weighed heavily on me. Even heavier, though, was the letter Ginger had handed back to me a few hours after our talk. It sat now, neatly folded on my desk, like a silent reproach—a reminder of the decision I had been meaning to make.

I knew what I had to write Verna, to decline her offer. It was rational, it was planned, it was the path I had already chosen. And yet, when I picked up the pen, I faltered. Something in me resisted. Doubts crept into my heart like cold fog, wrapping themselves around every clear thought. Was it really wise to refuse her? Was it wise to stay here—of all places—when Linda seemed more and more determined to avoid me?

Yes, I doubted. I doubted her, myself, everything. Maybe her silence, her evasiveness, was deliberate. Maybe it was her unspoken way of showing me she would never consider anything deeper between us. And if that was true—what was really keeping me here?

My family, of course. Ginger, most of all. But was that enough? Was my sister’s presence alone enough reason to spend the rest of my life in Portia, a town that felt so small, so familiar, and yet so confining? I let out a bitter breath, because I already knew the answer. No. It wasn’t enough.

In Portia, I couldn’t broaden my horizons. There were no real chances for growth here, no new paths that would push me forward in my work. If I stayed, I would stagnate—not just emotionally, but professionally too. And I knew it.

A long sigh escaped me. Almost reluctantly, I pulled a fresh sheet of paper from the drawer. Its smooth, blank surface looked like a challenge. Slowly, almost hesitantly, I picked up the pen again. Once more, I let my gaze wander over Verna’s letter—her words, her invitation, her expectation. Then I began to write.

The pen scratched lightly across the page as I drafted my request in short, measured sentences. Not a full yes, not a final no—just a wish to visit Atara for a few days. To see it with my own eyes. And then decide.

When I sealed the letter, my heart pounded against my ribs. It felt like betrayal—of Ginger, of Portia, maybe even of myself. But it also felt like hope. Maybe distance was the only way to understand what I truly wanted.

The days that followed dragged like molasses as I waited for a reply. I worked, sketched, distracted myself, but my eyes kept drifting to the window or the door. I saw Linda only in passing, when she climbed toward the Church of Light or the ruins. Each time, she looked rushed, tired. Except once. That time she looked almost relieved—before she hurried on. In that moment, I was strangely grateful my desk faced the window. Watching her was all I had left.

One afternoon, when I returned home from A&G, an envelope was waiting. My pulse quickened. The neat script was unmistakable—Verna’s hand. I didn’t tear it open right away. I carried it to my room, set it in front of me, sat there for a long minute. Only then did I break the seal.

Dear Gust,
I’m pleased you haven’t turned down my invitation. Even if you stay for only three days or forever—I’m convinced Atara can open new perspectives for you. I look forward to welcoming you soon.
With respect,
Verna

The lines clung to me, leaving no room for excuses. I folded the parchment carefully and placed it beside my own letter. The decision was made.

It wasn’t until the day before my departure that I found the courage to tell Ginger. We sat in the living room, the firelight throwing warm flickers across the walls. QQ lay curled at her feet, fast asleep.

I drew a long breath.
»Ginger, I have to tell you something.«
Her head lifted immediately, sharp and attentive.
»What is it, brother?«
For a moment I stayed silent, searching for the right words as if I had to place every stone in perfect order. But in the end, it came out simpler, almost flat:
»I’m leaving for Atara tomorrow.«

Her eyes widened in shock.
»Atara? Tomorrow already?!« She set her hands on her lap, as if she needed them to hold her steady.
»And… for how long? Since when did you know this?«

My gaze dropped, shame burning at the back of my neck.
»A few days.«

The silence that followed was heavier than any stone I had ever laid. Ginger looked at me, and in her eyes there was neither accusation nor acceptance—only the deep, unshakable worry she could never quite put down.

»Does Father already know?« I nodded wordlessly.

»You should have told me sooner, Gust.« Her voice was quiet, but firm.
»I understand why you’re doing it. But I deserved to know right away.« Her mouth tightened.
»That’s not fair.«

I nodded slowly, unable to meet her eyes.
»I know.«

Another silence stretched between us.
Then suddenly Ginger stood. Her steps were soft but certain, and before I could react, her arms wrapped around me. Warm, familiar, stronger than I ever gave her credit for. I froze for a heartbeat, then returned the embrace.

»I’ll miss you, brother,« she murmured against my shoulder. Her voice was gentle, but it trembled. »A few days isn’t long… and yet it is.«

My throat closed tight. I wanted to say something light, a joke, anything to ease the weight in the room—but nothing came. Instead, I held her tighter, as if I could make up for the days apart before they even began.

After a while, she pulled away and sat again. Her eyes lingered on the fire, thoughtful, while her fingers traced the cloth in her lap. Then she looked up, studying me closely.

»Does Linda know?« she asked at last.

It was like she had tossed a spark straight into the embers—only this time, the fire roared to life in my chest. I shook my head slowly.
»No. It’s not as if she would care.«

I left it at that. No attempt at explanation, no excuse. Just bare words, as stark as an unfinished foundation.

Ginger gave the faintest nod, as if she had expected nothing else. Yet there was something in her eyes—a flicker that looked like sorrow, maybe even guilt. Something knowing. As if she carried more than she was telling me.

But she didn’t say it. She let it stand, just as I had. Instead, she reached for a piece of wood, laid it on the fire, and watched the sparks rise.

And so we sat, side by side, silent—both lost in thoughts that divided us, yet bound us together. I had made my choice. And still, it felt as though I had already left something precious behind… before I had even taken a single step away.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

Morning came far too quickly. I woke early, though I’d barely slept. The suitcase stood at the foot of my bed, neatly packed—not too much, not too little. Only a few days. That was all it was meant to be.

QQ paced nervously around the room, as if he knew something was happening. He sniffed at the suitcase again and again, then looked up at me with wide eyes. I bent down, stroked his head.
»Not this time, old friend.« My voice cracked. I had originally thought to leave him with Linda, the way I had during the Azula project. But the idea of handing him to her now—without knowing where we stood, if we even stood anywhere at all—tightened my chest into a knot.

So I asked Ginger and Russo to look after him. Ginger promised with a gentle smile; Russo beat his chest with comic solemnity, swearing he’d guard QQ like his own brother.

And so we stood—My father, Ginger, and I—at the South Block station, where the bus to Sandrock waited. The old vehicle wheezed as if tired already. From there, the train would carry me on to Atara. My father laid a hand on my shoulder—or tried to, given I was much taller than him.
»See it for yourself, Gust. Decide with both your head and your heart. We’re proud of you, no matter what you choose.«
I only nodded.
Albert didn’t understand my sudden change of heart. He said I was being too impulsive, that I didn’t know what I really wanted. And in a way, he was right.
But this was an opportunity I wanted to take seriously. Last night, when we said goodbye, he clapped me on the shoulder and said, “I hope you find what you’re looking for, buddy.”

I hoped he was right.

Then—a call from across the river.
»Gust!«

I spun, startled. On the far bank stood Linda. The wind tugged at her hair, and in her hand she held something I recognized instantly: a small bouquet of hibiscus blossoms. She spoke briefly to Remington, who looked surprised but amused, then nodded. Moments later, she swung up onto his horse, Arrow, and crossed the bridge at a gallop. Her gaze locked on me, as if afraid I’d vanish before she reached me. Which, in truth, was about to happen.

And still my heart stumbled. Those flowers—I gathered them every autumn for our mother’s grave. No one but Ginger knew how much they meant to me. No one—except Linda, who had once stood beside me, helping me search. And now I remembered: Ginger’s birthday and my mother’s death were less than a week away. I prayed I wouldn’t be gone too long.

The sun broke through the clouds. The driver called for final passengers. My pulse hammered louder as Linda drew closer, Arrow beneath her, hibiscus bright against the yellow road, her face caught between fear and hope.

The driver shouted again, and before I truly realized what I was doing, I boarded the bus. My father clapped me on the back in encouragement; Ginger gave me a long look, caught somewhere between worry and quiet hope. I sat, heart heavy, as the wheels jolted into motion.

Portia’s buses had no windows—just open sides that let the wind rush through. I leaned an arm on the seat, staring out at the town slipping away, the desert opening its arms to me.

And then—a flicker at the edge of my vision. Linda.
She was riding alongside the bus, Arrow keeping pace effortlessly, her hair flying in the wind. In her hand, the hibiscus glowed pale against the dusty road.

»Gust!« Her voice cut through the rumble of the wheels.

My heart stopped. I hesitated, then turned to her. And in her face I saw everything I had missed these past days: urgency and courage. Simply her.

»I’m sorry!« she cried, louder now so I could hear.
»I’ve been thinking a lot the past days and… Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Atara?!«

I clenched my fist, pressing it hard against the wooden seat.
Thinking? About what—how best to avoid me?
»Because you’ve been avoiding me!« The wind tore the words from my lips, but she heard them. »Why do you even care?!«

Linda shook her head fiercely, keeping Arrow tight alongside the bus.
»Of course I care! You… you think I ignored you, but I needed time! I didn’t know how to—«

»How to what?!« I leaned out, the wind slapping my face like blows. My frustration boiled over.
»How to tell me to leave you alone? That you’d rather ignore me for fuck´s knows why?! Well, congratulation, I´m leaving you alone.«

Her fingers tightened around the reins.
»No, Gust! That’s never what I wanted to tell you! I wanted—« She cut herself off, biting her lip, fighting with words that refused to come.
»I didn’t want to say it like that!«

The bus jolted over a stone; Arrow danced at its side, but Linda held firm. Her eyes shone—whether from wind or something else, I couldn’t tell.

»What didn’t you want to say like that? You’re speaking in riddles, Linda!« I shouted back, harsher than I meant.
»Why didn’t you come to see me?!«

»Because I thought you didn’t want to see me! Because I broke my word!«
Her voice cracked, but she held my gaze as if it was the only thing keeping her steady.
»I didn’t know how to face you because I… argh!« She shook her head violently, angry at herself.
»Then I thought—maybe if I gave you these,« she gestured weakly to the hibiscus in her arms, »as an apology, maybe we could talk about it! But every time I tried—I lost my courage!«

I snorted, looked away—then back at her.
»Where I’m going, I won’t need flowers!« My voice almost broke. And even as the words left me, I regretted them—when I saw the hurt flash across her face.

Linda clutched the blossoms tighter to her chest, as if the wind itself might steal them.
»But that’s not the only reason why I’m riding next to this damned bus, Gust!«

We stared at each other—the distance between us filled with noise, wind, accusations, apologies. A storm of why and because, of you should have and I couldn’t.

The bus picked up speed, wheels hammering harder, the wind lashing my skin. Arrow broke into a gallop to keep pace, Linda leaning low over his neck, still gripping the hibiscus as if she could hold them against time itself.

»Gust!« she cried again, her voice almost breaking against the thunder of the wheels.
»I’m sorry—for everything. For the silence, for the hesitation—for every day I lost with you!«

I wanted to answer, but my throat locked. I didn’t know what to do with her apology. Disappointment, confusion—it all knotted together. I only wanted to flee before I unraveled my decision. All that came out was a rough, strangled:
»Linda…«

The tunnel to the southern pass loomed ahead, shadows stretching long fingers across the road. The driver clicked his tongue, whistled, and stepped more on the pedal. Arrow pushed on, but the gap widened. I looked at her one last time, then tore my gaze away, forcing myself to sit back, staring in the opposite direction. And just before the tunnel swallowed the bus whole, her voice rang out—loud, clear, sharp enough to split a heart:

»I love you, Gust! Do you hear me? I love you!«

The wind carried her words, echoing inside my head, louder than everything else. My head snapped back toward her. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. My hand clutched the seat, as if I could stop the bus. But it rumbled on, merciless, into the black maw of Portia’s tunnel.

In the last moment, I saw her still—flowers in hand, face lifted, defiant against dust, fear, everything.

Then darkness devoured the rest.
And all that remained was her cry, ringing in my ears:
I love you.

~~~~~~~~~✎ 🤍 ✎~~~~~~~~~

I stayed four days in Atara. Four days that felt like an eternity—and yet, in the end, were more than enough, as I soon realized.

Atara welcomed me with splendor that once would have left me in awe. Sunlit streets, towers of shimmering marble rising so high they seemed to touch the sky. Marketplaces thrummed with a chorus of voices, steeped in the scents of exotic foods and the gleam of precious fabrics. Everywhere, deals were struck, numbers exchanged, contracts signed—it was as if the city itself breathed success and grandeur. Verna greeted me with open arms, pride and confidence radiating from her, as though she meant to lay the world at my feet.

And yet… all of it felt strangely hollow. Beneath the brilliance lay a silence only I seemed to hear. The marble halls echoed emptily. The crowds flowed past like a river that refused to carry me along. The city dazzled, but it did not warm.

With every blueprint Verna showed me—her eyes shining with excitement—the lines blurred. I didn’t see towers and structures. I saw Linda’s smile, gentle and steady, like a promise I could trust. Every statue raised proudly in Atara’s squares reminded me not of artistry or greatness, but of the simple glass roof of the swimming hall Linda and I had built together—our work, our moment, echoing deeper in me than any marble this city could boast.

And in the evenings, when Atara bathed in golden shadows and light danced across its facades, one question always returned: was she, perhaps, thinking of me too? Or had I already become a memory, fading like the last blush of sunset?

Two days. That’s how long it took me to understand. Two days to realize Atara was no longer what I longed for. Not the way I once believed. What use was fame, recognition, glittering titles—if they weren’t shared with the people who truly mattered?

On the third day, I sought Verna out. She was waiting in her office—a grand chamber with high windows, the afternoon sun spilling in golden across her desk. Fresh plans were spread out before her, her handwriting scattered like bursts of fire along the margins.

»Gust,« she began, and hope itself filled her tone. »Look at what you could achieve here. Atara needs minds like yours.«

I drew a breath. »It’s… impressive, Master Verna. Truly. But…« My fingers tightened around the letter in my pocket, as though I could draw strength from its folds. »My place isn’t here. Not anymore.«

Her brows furrowed, a shadow flickering across her features. »Not here? You know what you’re turning down, Gust. You know the future you’re casting aside.«

»I do,« I said quietly—and to my own surprise, my voice was steady. »But a future without heart is worth nothing. I have something—someone—in Portia who means more than anything here.«

Silence. Verna studied me for a long while. First came disappointment in her gaze. But slowly, it softened into a faint, almost sorrowful smile.
»You followed your heart. That’s worth more than any title I could offer.«

She stepped close, resting her hand briefly on my shoulder. »Go, Gust. Go back. Atara will still be here. But people… sometimes they won’t.«

I nodded, bowed in gratitude, and knew this was goodbye.

On the fourth day, the bus rumbled back toward Portia. Dust clung to my shoes, but the solid earth beneath them filled me with a warmth no marble could ever give.

In front of the house, Ginger was waiting. Her eyes lit the moment she saw me, and she ran the last steps, throwing her arms tight around me.
»Brother!« Her voice trembled. »I missed you so much.«

I held her just as tightly, smoothing a hand across her back.
»I missed you too, Ginger.« Then I pulled out a small, carefully wrapped bundle.
»And here. An early birthday gift.«

Her eyes widened as she unwrapped the paper. Inside was a book, bound in the finest leather, its pages filled with ornate illustrations. A treasure I’d chosen in Atara just for her. Her fingers traced the cover reverently—then she lifted her gaze to me, smiling warm and full of affection.

»It’s beautiful, Gust. But the best gift is that you’re back.«

My throat tightened. I could only nod, words too small for the weight of the moment.

Ginger closed the book and held it to her chest. Then she gave me that knowing, faintly mischievous look—one only siblings can give.

»By the way,« Ginger said casually, »I’ve got a guest waiting in my room.«

My brows shot up.
»A guest?«

She nodded, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
»Tell her to come downstairs, would you? I think she’s been waiting long enough.«

My heartbeat quickened. I knew exactly who she meant—knew it before the faint smile on her lips confirmed it. Without another word, I hurried up the stairs. Each step rang louder in my ears, driving my pulse higher. I stopped before the door, my hand on the handle. Then I pushed it open.

And there she was.
Linda.

Her hands folded in her lap, nervously toying with a loose thread on her blouse. When the door swung fully open, she looked up—and for an instant her eyes widened with surprise, as if she hadn’t expected it would be me.

»Gust,« she breathed, soft as if testing whether I was truly standing before her.

I stepped inside, and the door fell shut behind me with a hushed sigh, cutting the world away. Suddenly, there was only this moment.

»Linda.« Her name slipped from me, barely audible, a whispered confession—and yet my heart hammered so loudly, I thought each beat might break the silence.

She lifted her head, a tentative smile brushing her lips. Fragile, uncertain—like a shard of light that might vanish the next second.
»You’re really here. I thought…« Her voice faltered, words losing their weight. Her gaze drifted aside, unable to face what hung heavy between us.

I moved closer—two soft steps, yet it felt like crossing worlds. Only an arm’s length remained.
»I missed you,« I said, low and steady, my voice both tender and unshakable.

Her lips trembled, pressed together as if to hold back the truth she could no longer contain. But at last it escaped her, like a sigh:
»I missed you too… I didn’t know if you would come back. I didn’t know if my words… meant anything to you at all.«

In that instant, my hesitation shattered. I took her hands gently, reverently, drawing them into mine. They were cold, but they didn’t tremble. They settled there, as if they had always belonged.
»They meant everything,« I answered, rough-voiced, from the deepest part of me. »In Atara, I realized—there’s no dream left for me there. Do you remember when I told you I had a new dream?«

She nodded faintly, and in that nod I saw the first fragile crack through which hope could shine.

Her eyes lifted to mine, a flicker of light within them—hesitant, tender, like a flame in the wind.
»What… is your new dream?« Her words were almost inaudible, yet they rang inside me like an oath.

I brushed my thumb across her cheek, so softly as if to inscribe each word into her skin, to plant every syllable in her heart.
»You, Linda,« I whispered. Simple—but with a certainty stronger than any vow. »You are my dream.«

The world held its breath. No sound reached us—not the rustle of the wind outside, not even my own. There was only her, her widening eyes, as though she had never dared to hope she would hear these words spoken aloud.

Tears shimmered, and she no longer held them back.
»Gust…« Her voice broke, yet she smiled—a smile suspended between laughter and tears, more beautiful than anything Atara had ever offered me.
»You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.«

The weight fell from me, crumbling like stones I had carried too long: the doubts, the coldness of Atara, the silent ache of the past weeks. All dissolved, leaving only this—her nearness, her heartbeat echoing against mine like a vow.

I drew her closer, the warmth between us sealing every fracture, and leaned in. A faint, incredulous smile touched my lips. Then I closed my eyes, and at last, our lips met.

At first, it was hesitant, trembling—like a first step onto uncharted ground. But in the next breath, yearning surged through us, deeper, fiercer, breaking loose with all the fear of losing each other again. The kiss burned with urgency and release, sealing everything words could not.

A floorboard groaned somewhere in the hall. It didn’t matter.
Because in that moment, nothing belonged to the world outside.
In that moment, there was only us.