The river murmured alongside the road, whispering a song of stones and time.
Calen adjusted the lantern at his side as he crossed the old stone bridge into town.
The afternoon sun dipped low, casting long golden shadows across the fields.
Children's laughter floated through the air, mingling with the soft clatter of bicycle wheels and the distant call of birds.
It seemed like a place where nothing bad could touch you.
But Calen knew better.
He had learned that sometimes the brightest places hid the deepest shadows.
He wandered down the main street — a scattering of shops, a sleepy diner, and an old schoolhouse perched near the river's bend.
The school's white paint was peeling.
Its windows reflected the golden light like they were holding onto the day just a little longer.
Calen found himself drawn there, the lantern swaying gently at his hip.
The playground sat empty except for one figure.
A woman sat on the swingset, her legs tucked up slightly, the chain creaking softly with each gentle sway.
She wore a long, simple skirt, scuffed sneakers, and a loose blouse.
Her hair was tied messily at the nape of her neck, and a leather satchel rested at her feet.
She looked…
not lost exactly.
Just tired in a way that lived deeper than the body — a weariness carved into the soul.
She looked up when she heard Calen's footsteps crunching over the gravel.
Their eyes met.
She offered a smile.
Bright. Automatic.
Too practiced to be real.
Woman:
"Hey there.
Lost?"
Calen shook his head.
Calen:
(softly)
"Just walking."
She tilted her head, noticing the lantern.
Woman:
(half-laughing)
"You planning to camp out?
Or just collecting odd looks?"
Calen:
(smiling slightly)
"A little of both, maybe."
The woman laughed — this time a little more genuinely.
She gestured to the swingset beside her.
Woman:
"Well…
since you're collecting odd looks, might as well have a seat."
Calen sat down carefully, the chains groaning under his weight.
The lantern rested against his knee, its soft flame flickering in the growing evening.
For a while, they simply swung together, the old metal frame singing quietly with their movements.
Then, without looking at him, she spoke.
Woman:
"Name's Lila.
I teach at the school here."
Calen:
"Calen."
Lila:
(smiling sideways)
"Nice to meet you, Lantern Boy."
Calen chuckled softly.
It wasn't the first time someone had called him that.
Lila:
(after a moment)
"You passing through?
Or running from something?"
Calen glanced up at the sky — the first stars beginning to prick their way through the violet blue.
Calen:
"Maybe a little of both."
Lila:
(nodding)
"Yeah.
I know that feeling."
Her hands tightened on the swing's chains.
Her knuckles turned white.
Lila:
"Sometimes you end up somewhere so long…
you forget you ever meant to go somewhere else."
Calen turned slightly to look at her.
Not pushing.
Just waiting.
Lila rocked slowly on the swing, her toes scraping little furrows into the dirt.
Lila:
(softly)
"I used to have bigger dreams, you know."
Calen stayed silent, letting the night and the swing's quiet creak fill the spaces between her words.
Lila:
"When I was younger…
I wanted to be an artist.
Wanted to paint the world the way I saw it — all messy and beautiful and broken."
She smiled faintly, but there was no real joy in it.
Lila:
"I had a portfolio ready.
Saved every cent I could.
Applied to art schools.
Even got accepted."
She fell silent for a moment, kicking at a loose pebble.
Lila:
"Then my dad got sick.
Bills piled up.
Mom was barely holding the house together.
And suddenly, chasing dreams felt selfish.
Irresponsible."
She looked up at the darkening sky.
Lila:
"So I stayed.
Took a 'safe' job.
Teaching art to kids instead of making it myself."
She laughed softly — a sound so bitter it hurt to hear.
Lila:
"And now, every morning, I tell them to dream big.
To chase what makes their hearts burn."
Her voice cracked.
Lila:
"Even though I didn't."
The words hung between them — raw, bleeding.
Calen's hand rested lightly on the lantern, feeling its familiar weight.
Calen:
(gently)
"Maybe…
you kept a different kind of fire alive."
Lila shook her head fiercely.
Lila:
"It's not the same.
It's not enough."
She pressed her palms into her eyes, as if trying to wipe away the years.
Lila:
(whispering)
"Some nights I lie awake wondering if the girl I used to be would even recognize me now."
Calen:
(soft)
"Maybe she'd recognize the parts that survived."
Lila dropped her hands, looking at him with hollow eyes.
Lila:
"What parts?"
Calen:
(quietly)
"The ones that still believe in beauty.
The ones that still tell kids they can be anything.
The ones that still ache for more."
He met her gaze, steady and unflinching.
Calen:
"Not all dreams end.
Some just… sleep for a while."
Lila laughed bitterly.
Lila:
"And if they never wake up?"
Calen thought about that.
About lost things.
About promises made under roofs of rain.
About carrying lights too heavy for one person alone.
Calen:
(soft)
"Then maybe…
you find a new dream.
One that fits the person you've become.
Not just the one you used to be."
The river murmured in the background.
Crickets chirred lazily in the tall grass.
The world spun on, indifferent to the quiet aching of two souls on a rusted swing set.
Finally, Lila spoke.
Lila:
"I thought staying was the noble thing.
The right thing.
But sometimes…
I wonder if I was just scared."
Calen:
"Maybe you were.
Maybe you weren't."
Lila:
(bitter smile)
"Helpful."
Calen:
(shrugging lightly)
"Truth isn't always helpful.
Sometimes it just… is."
Lila stared out over the empty playground, where the ghosts of children's laughter still echoed.
Lila:
(quietly)
"Do you think it's too late?
To change?
To want more?"
Calen looked at her — really looked.
At the tired lines on her face.
At the hope still stubbornly clinging behind her worn smile.
Calen:
"I think…
it's only too late if you're already gone."
He tapped the lantern gently, the flame inside flickering against the night.
Calen:
"And you're still here."