Not yet.
So I don’t.
I just wait.
For the moment I’ll have to.
I don’t sleep.
Just listen to the Grove breathe and feel the hours stretch like vines across the night.
By the time dawn kisses the treetops, I know what I have to do.
She’s already at the seedling beds when I find her—kneeling in the morning light, sleeves rolled, hands sunk into rich soil. She hums under her breath, soft and absentminded.
The moment I speak, she startles.
“Clara.”
She looks up, curls catching the light, eyes wary in that way that says she already knows.
“I heard,” I say, steady as I can. “About the grant.”
Her face stills.
Then she nods, slow. “I was going to tell you.”
“I know.”
Silence stretches.
I step forward, kneel across from her, careful not to crowd.
“It’s a good opportunity,” I say.
She watches me closely. “It’s… a lot. Big city labs. Teams. Travel. Real influence.”
I nod.
“You’d be great.”
My voice holds.
Barely.
She swallows, searching my face. “Are you okay?”
I force a small smile. “I’m proud of you.”
I don’t say: I’m breaking.
I don’t say: Please don’t go.
Because I’m not that selfish.
And she’s not mine to keep.
She studies me like she’s trying to read something carved under bark.
