Kai Ashford's POV
She finds me again.
I hear the sound of hurried footsteps in the grass before I even look up. There's only one person who walks like that—like the whole world's her playground and she's late to the fun.
But today, she isn't humming. She isn't giggling. She isn't yelling "ASHFORD!" like she always does, loud enough to scare away every bird in this damn garden.
Today, Sky just drops her bag by the bench and quietly walks over.
Her long black hair is down again—messy, tangled, no clips, no ribbons. She doesn't say anything. Just sits beside me on the grass like she's slowly crumbling, and then lowers her head into my lap without asking.
I freeze.
She's done this before. But this time, her shoulders aren't bouncing with laughter. They're curled in.
She's quiet.
Too quiet.
"Sky?"
She doesn't look at me. "Don't want to talk."
Her voice is muffled. Small. Like the version of her I never imagined existed.
I slowly put the book down. Let my hand hover over her back but don't touch her. Not yet. Not until she lets me.
"I didn't wear anything cute today," she whispers, like it's a confession. "Didn't braid my hair. Didn't even wear my butterfly earrings."
I glance down at her oversized hoodie and plain black tights. She's curled up like a kitten left out in the rain.
"I like your hair down," I say carefully.
She snorts, but it's weak. "Bet the girls from earlier wouldn't agree."
"What girls?"
Silence.
She curls into me a little more. Her arms wrap around my leg like she's clinging for warmth. "They called me a pick-me. Said I act stupid. That no one's actually that happy all the time."
I blink.
Something cold runs down my spine.
"They don't know you."
"They don't have to," she mumbles. "Maybe they're right. Maybe I am too much. Too loud. Too clingy."
That—no.
No, I don't like that.
I run my fingers gently through her hair. She tenses for a second, then sighs, leaning into it.
"They're idiots," I mutter. "Loud doesn't mean fake. Clingy doesn't mean annoying. And happy?" I look down at her. "It's rare. You're rare."
She blinks up at me, tears in her lashes. "Are you—are you comforting me, Kai Ashford?"
"Don't make it weird."
She smiles. Barely. But it's there.
I start gathering her hair slowly. "Do you want a braid?"
She nods like a child. "Only if you put flowers again."
I reach into her tote bag—because of course she packed daisies even when she was sad—and begin weaving her hair.
People can say what they want.
Let them whisper.
Let them wonder what someone like me is doing with someone like her.
They don't know what it's like when she stops smiling.
And I'll be damned if I ever let it stay that way for long.