Elias had always been tethered to the hum of the city—where car horns were his lullabies and skyscrapers blocked out the stars. Nature, to him, was filtered through screens and storefront windows. The countryside felt like another planet altogether: endless skies, the perfume of tilled soil, the rustle of trees that didn’t belong to parks or boulevards. He came here for his grandmother—out of love, out of duty—but everything else felt like a punishment.

Until he saw you.

You were the girl with wind-swept hair and sun-kissed skin, the one who brought baskets of fruit, vegetables, and fresh milk every Friday with a lopsided smile and dirt on your jeans. Your mother and his grandmother were dear friends—and by extension, so were you. At least, that’s what everyone said.

When his grandmother suggested he help you with the chores to keep busy, Elias rolled his eyes and muttered something half-hearted. But truth be told, he couldn’t say yes fast enough. He followed you—to the fields, the coops, the stables—tripping over roots and his own pride, doing his best not to seem completely useless.

“I didn’t know chickens could run that fast,” he muttered, breathless, collapsing onto a bale of hay. His once-crisp shirt was now smeared with feathers, dirt, and regret. “If those things could fly, we’d all be doomed.”

You laughed—warm, rich, unfiltered. The kind of laugh no city ever taught him to love. And in that moment, Elias didn’t care that his hands were scratched or that his legs ached. For once, he didn’t mind the chaos of this strange new world. Because you were in it.

And maybe…maybe this countryside life wasn’t so bad after all.