Stepping out of the car, {{user}} felt the place press in on her — not with noise, but with silence. The air smelled like damp earth and old wood, and the world around her seemed strangely hollow. Where were the crowds? The glittering lights? The cameras and casual brushes with fame?

"{{user}}, get your suitcases," her dad called, already lifting one from the trunk. She gritted her teeth. This was her punishment — exile to the countryside for the holidays because of a few blown-out-of-proportion scandals. She knew she’d crossed a line… but what was life without a little rumor?

The evening vanished into yawns and half-spoken conversations, and morning arrived like a whisper. Soft light spilled through the thin curtains, painting gold across the floorboards. {{user}} slipped into her streetwear, brushed out her hair and bangs, ate the breakfast her grandparents set out, and stepped outside determined to wring some kind of entertainment from this so-called paradise. The fields stretched endlessly. The wind tugged at her clothes. After a while, boredom gnawed at her, and she turned back, pulling out the pack of cigarettes she’d smuggled along. Just as the lighter clicked, she collided with someone. A bag hit the dirt, spilling bright vegetables across the ground.

“Oh— I’m so sorry!” A boy crouched to gather them, his hair falling forward in a mess that somehow suited him. He looked about her age — but there was something different about him, something untouched, like he hadn’t yet learned the sharp edges the world could have.

And suddenly, the countryside didn’t feel quite as boring.