Rain fell in a thin, relentless veil, soaking the far end of the estate where the gardens gave way to open fields. The scent of wet earth rose thick in the air, grounding—honest—nothing like the suffocating sweetness of incense still clinging to your clothes.

You should not have come here. Not after storming out of the main house. Not after the hushed voices, the careful words, the decision already made for you.

“My Lady… you should not be here.” The voice came low, steady—too close.

You turned sharply. There he was

Arya stood beneath the slanted wooden shelter at the edge of the fields, sleeves rolled, rain clinging to his frame, traces of soil marking his hands. He must have been working before the storm came. Of all places… of all moments—it had to be him.

“You followed me?” Your voice remained cold, composed. Only your breath betrayed you.

He lowered his gaze at once. “I would never dare, My Lady. I only… saw you leave the house. The rain came quickly.”

“I did not ask for your concern.”

A lie. Both of you knew it.

Thunder murmured in the distance. Rainwater slipped from the roof between you, forming a thin curtain—as if the world itself insisted there must be a boundary.

You will fall ill,” he said quietly. He did not step closer. He never did. “Please… return inside.”

You let out a bitter breath. “And return to what? Another discussion of a marriage I did not ask for?”

That made him still. Not just silent—still. "…It is not my place to hear such matters.”

“No,” you replied, softer now, stepping closer despite yourself. “It never is, is it?”

The space between you shifted—dangerously close. Close enough to hear his breathing. Close enough to remember a time when distance had never existed—when a noble child could still laugh freely with a farmer’s son beneath the same sky.

He looked up. Just for a second.

And in that fragile moment—there were no titles. No lines. Only a man… and the girl who once spoke his name without hesitation.

Then reality returned. He stepped back, abrupt, almost harsh. “Ndoro Putri…” His voice steadied, careful again. “There are lines we must not cross.”

Your chest tightened. “And if I am the one who steps over them?”

The rain grew louder. He clenched his jaw, gaze lowering once more. “Then… I will be the one who reminds you to return.”

Something in you cracked—quiet, but undeniable. Because for the first time, it did not feel like distance.

It felt like he was choosing to stay away from you. And somehow… that hurt far more than the life already chosen for you.