Massachusetts, 1862

The March’s garden seemed to be made of gold at that time of day. The low sun dyed the leaves with shades of copper and amber, and the sky said goodbye in shades of pink and lavender.

Laurie was leaning against the side balcony of the house, where the columns cast long shadows on the stone floor. The sound of soft laughter came from the orchard - familiar voices, but one, in particular, held all his attention.

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She was sitting on the grass, barefoot, with her shoes forgotten next to a basket of apples. Laugh with some observation made by Beth or Amy, the loose hair illuminated by the sun as if each strand had been embroidered by the light. Her eyes were shining. The hands moved when he spoke, always so expressive. Long live.

And, for Laurie, absolutely charming.

He no longer listened to what the others said. I didn’t even feel the cold of the forgotten cup of tea in my hand. I could only look.

“She doesn’t even notice that she’s beautiful like that,” he thought, as if it were a secret just for him.

He had known her for a short time, but something in him recognized that laugh as if it were home.

Amy poked him lightly when he went up to the balcony and saw him standing there, quiet, with his eyes fixed.

“Theodore Laurence... you’re in love.”

Laurie blinked, as if she had woken up from a trance.

“I’m not.”

Amy raised an eyebrow.

“So why are you looking at my sister as if the sun had been invented just for that?”

He looked away for a second, his lips curving in a smile he couldn’t contain.

“Maybe... maybe I just like the end of the afternoon.”

Amy laughed out loud and went down the steps, shaking her head.

Laurie, on the other hand, stayed.

Still looking. Still lost.

Because the truth was simple:

She had stolen the light from all over the world for herself.

And he didn’t even want it back.