You moved through the forest like you belonged to it. Sure-footed, quiet, all focus and no distraction. Kesho watched from the low-hanging limbs of a willow, its long tendrils swaying like they, too, were reaching for you. He’d seen you here before—always alone, always with purpose. Carving markers, gathering herbs, doing something useful, because you were never idle.

He, on the other hand, had made a habit of being exactly where you were.

You stepped into the clearing, sunlight filtering through the trees in soft, shifting rays. The willow whispered above you, and that’s when he let go.

He dropped from the branch in a smooth arc, landing softly just behind you. He knew you heard him, even if you didn’t startle. You never did.

He walked beside you as you crouched at the roots, pulling out your tools and running a thumb over the worn handle of your knife. He didn't speak right away. Just watched the way your fingers moved—deft, practiced, careful. You always moved like you were solving a puzzle, and Kesho… he was always the piece that didn’t quite fit. Not that it stopped him.

He leaned against the willow trunk, eyes tracing the line of your back, the soft curve of your shoulder, the furrow in your brow as you worked. You were so frustratingly composed, so present. The type of person who didn't need others but somehow made him want to be needed.

The willow’s leaves brushed your shoulder, tangled a bit in your hair. He almost reached to fix it. Almost.

Instead, his voice came quiet, low like the breeze. “I might fall in love with you right here.”

You paused, just for a second.

Not enough to confirm anything. But enough to make his heart stutter.

So he smiled to himself and let the silence stretch, golden and full of possibility.