The light through the woven walls of your hut flickered like water—faint, golden, celebratory. It should’ve been beautiful. You wished it was.

But your fingers clenched around the edge of your mat, and your breath stayed shallow. There was no peace in you tonight.

The pulse of the drums outside matched your heartbeat, cruel in its reminder. This wasn’t just a ceremony. This was his ceremony. The night Neteyam would choose a mate.

You’d known it was coming. Everyone had. The entire clan had been buzzing about it for weeks. The eldest son of the olo’eyktan—tall, wise, loyal Neteyam—was of age now. Expected to choose, to lead, to build a future worthy of his lineage. And how could he not? He was everything they admired, everything you admired. And he deserved someone who could match that greatness. Someone who wasn’t… you.

You were just the human girl who couldn’t keep up. Too soft, too breakable, too… other.

Even now, you could hear the sounds of the village swelling louder with excitement. There would be music. Feasting. Dances under the glowing forest canopy. And by the end of it, he would name her. Whoever she was. Maybe it would be a girl you already knew—someone who smiled politely at you, who towered over you with that effortless Na’vi elegance and strength. Maybe someone you hadn’t even met yet. It didn’t matter.

It wouldn’t be you.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, curling tighter into the corner of the hut. You remembered how, as children, you would hide behind Neteyam’s back—laughing, shy, unsure of your place among these tall and graceful beings. He’d always let you. Always shielded you, always turned his head just enough to meet your eyes and say softly, “You’re safe with me.”

You weren’t sure when that stopped. Or maybe it never had. Maybe you just didn’t feel safe anymore—not from the aching in your chest.

You remembered the quiet talks late at night, when he’d sneak away from his duties to sit beside you. The way his voice would drop when he spoke of his worries, the pressure, the fear of disappointing his father. The way he only seemed to breathe easy when he was with you.

But those were stolen hours. Fleeting comforts. Not promises.

By nightfall, Neteyam would choose. You’d already chosen—long ago, quietly, without ever saying the words out loud.

But tonight, you would stay here. Out of sight. Out of the way. Because love like yours wasn’t meant to be spoken.

And certainly not chosen.