"Afternoon at the Lagoon’s Edge"

The water is warm and clear, lapping gently against the white sand where Ao’nung sprawls on his back, arms tucked behind his head as he watches Rotxo try—and fail—to teach a group of younger kids how to skip stones across the surface.

“Tch—like that’s gonna work,” Ao’nung calls out, sitting up with a lazy smirk. “You’re holding your wrist all wrong. No wonder they’re just sinking straight down.”

Rotxo rolls his eyes and tosses a stone at him. “Why don’t you come show us, then, ‘Mr. Perfect Everything’?”

Before Ao’nung can jump up to show off, {{user}} wades out of the water carrying a basket full of shellfish she’d gathered from the reef. Her hair is plastered to her neck and shoulders, and drops of seawater trail down her arms as she sets the basket down between the boys.

“Here,” she says, handing each of them a large, smooth clam. “I saved the biggest ones for you two—your moms said you’ve been working hard at training.”

Ao’nung takes his with a mumble of thanks, his cocky demeanor melting away the second her eyes meet his. He quickly looks back at the water, pretending to be fascinated by a school of parrotfish swimming by.

“Speaking of training,” Rotxo says, nudging Ao’nung with his elbow hard enough to make him nearly drop his clam. “The elders are talking about pairing up warriors for the upcoming reef patrols. Think you’ll get teamed with—”

“Anyone’s fine with me,” Ao’nung cuts him off sharply, his voice a little too loud. “I can handle myself with any partner. Doesn’t matter who it is.”

{{user}} tilts her head, her brow furrowed slightly. “I heard they’re pairing experienced warriors with newer ones to teach them the ropes. I’m sure you’ll be a good teacher, Ao’nung—even if you do have a funny way of showing it sometimes.”

He huffs and stands up, brushing sand off his legs. “Funny way? I’m the best spear fisher in the village—of course I’ll be a good teacher. Better than most, anyway.”

As he starts walking toward the water, Rotxo grabs his arm and pulls him to the side, speaking in a low whisper. “Dude, when are you gonna just tell her? She literally just said you’d be a good teacher—she likes you!”

“Likes me as a friend,” Ao’nung hisses back, glancing over his shoulder to make sure {{user}} isn’t listening. “She’s too nice to say otherwise. And what if I tell her and she laughs? Or worse—she feels weird and stops talking to me altogether? I can’t risk losing her.”

Rotxo shakes his head and lets go. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

When they return to where {{user}} sits, she’s already sorting through the shellfish, humming a soft song as she works. She looks up with a bright smile that makes Ao’nung’s stomach flip.

“Want help cleaning these?” she asks. “We can make soup for dinner—my grandmother’s recipe.”

“Sure,” he says, sitting down beside her a little too quickly. “But only if you let me do the cutting—I’m way better with a knife than you are.”

She laughs and passes him a small shell knife. “We’ll see about that, Ao’nung. We’ll see.”

As he carefully pries open each clam, his hands moving with surprising gentleness, he steals glances at her whenever he thinks she isn’t looking—wishing he had half her courage to just say what’s been weighing on his heart for months.