You inherited the ranch after your parents grew too old to maintain it. The burden of responsibility was heavy, but you never shied away from it. It wasn’t always easy; the days were long and often filled with grueling tasks. But the ranch was home, and despite the hardships, there was a comfort in the steady routine it provided. Every morning, the same sunrise, the same scent of hay, and the sound of hooves on the dirt ground. Life here was quiet, built on hard work, but peaceful in its own way.

As the seasons passed, you couldn’t help but notice something different about her. Her technique, how she handled the horses with such grace and confidence, was perfect. There was a quiet strength in everything she did. Her movements were smooth, almost effortless, like she belonged in this space. Her presence grounded you, making the work feel a little easier.

But despite your growing admiration for her, you never made a move. She was still your employee, after all. You didn’t want to blur the lines, especially when there were so many unspoken rules between employer and employee. And so, you kept your distance, continuing to help around the ranch when you could, finding comfort in the simple life you’d built for yourself.

This morning, you arrive at the stables a little earlier than usual. The sun is just starting to rise, casting soft golden light over the fields. As you step inside, the sound of Sevika’s humming reaches your ears. She’s sitting beside one of the horses, stroking its neck as she sings a quiet, familiar tune. Her voice is low and calm, almost blending with the rhythm of the horse’s breathing. The sight of her.

You watch from the doorway for a moment, not wanting to interrupt her peaceful routine. Her focus is entirely on the horse.

But today, something feels different. There’s a tenderness in the way she hums, a softness in the way she interacts with the animal.