The next morning, when the sun peeked through the trees and touched the village with its warm golden fingers, she awoke again to the cold breeze.
The window was open.
And just below the rosemary pot—another letter.
This time, with a name and an address:
Rukas Carlov,
Elder's Lane, Barylyn.
Just this much, answer to her question.
Who are you?
Her breath caught in her throat—this time from surprise.
Seven stared at the name, her eyes tracing each letter slowly, as if trying to match it to a face she had never seen.
"Rukas Carlov".
She murmured it aloud, letting the name settle in her mouth like the first taste of honey.
"Barylyn" she pronounced it, loudly to make herself believe, what she had just read.
Her hunch about the anonymous sender being a traveler and noticing her on the night of the festival near the well was right.
Her eyes drifted toward the sill once more.
How did he reach it? Amazed.
She folded the letter, and tucked it under her pillow.
This time, she felt amused, and oddly assured by the letter, as if now she could trust the words and the person behind them.
As her mother is expecting a charming guest, she was getting ready to help her attend their guest, David.
Seven stepped down the staircase, paused, blinking in surprise.
There her mother stood, wearing her favorite dress, a soft, light pink one that made her look even more beautiful.
The color kissed her skin gently, making her seem younger somehow, her cheeks flushed with a natural glow.
"You look so pretty, Mom," Seven said, grinning wide.
Her mother smiled back, a little shy under the compliment.
"I used to wear this color for special occasions when I was young," she said, adjusting the hem of her dress.
"And today... meeting my best friend after so long feels just as special."
Seven's heart swelled with a warm fuzzy feeling. "Mom..
Before she could say more, there was a knock on the door.
Seven hurried to open it, and there stood David, holding a bouquet of wildflowers.
His smile was as warm and charming as the morning sun.
He stepped inside and handed the bouquet to Lira with a small, playful bow.
"You look heavenly in pink, you know," he said, his voice low and teasing.
"Like a dream, I'm scared to wake up from." he added with a cheeky wink that made Lira laugh and shake her head in mock disapproval.
They sat down for breakfast, a simple but happy meal, knowing David would be departing for Barylyn within the hour.
David bit into a cinnamon cookie and gave a hum of approval.
"These," he said, raising the cookie like a treasure, "are the reason I survived our teenage years."
Seven laughed. "You like them this much?"
David grinned.
"Hated it," he said dramatically, "but your mother... well, she had a crush on a boy back then. Handsome, smart, a singer too. Compared to me, he was like a star shining in daylight."
He laughed at himself, shaking his head.
"Every time she came to gush about that perfect boy, I would sulk and eat one of these cinnamon cookies... till I liked them. Out of pure stubbornness."
Seven's smile faltered a little, feeling a pinch of sympathy for David's younger self.
Curious, Lira asked, "How is Garry now?"
David blinked in surprise.
"You don't know?" he asked, a little cautious.
When Lira shook her head, confused, David rubbed the back of his neck.
"I thought..." he hesitated. "I thought you and Garry might have ended up together. You moved away... and the very next day, Garry left town too. No one heard much after that."
He paused, glancing between Lira and Seven.
"And yesterday, when you told me you had a daughter... I thought maybe she was your and Garry's daughter. I didn't ask... I didn't want to bring up old memories, not when you were already sad talking about your parents."
Seven sat frozen, a strange feeling blooming in her chest.
Her mother hadn't even invited her best friend to her wedding?
David didn't even know who her father was?
But she swallowed everything, pressing down the questions bubbling inside her.
With a quick excuse about forgetting the cookies in the oven, she stood up and slipped away to the kitchen, leaving her mother and David alone.
When she returned, David was already standing at the door, ready to leave.
He hugged Lira gently, leaving her with a bright smile and a small box tied with a simple ribbon.
"For my best girl," he said softly.
Inside the box was a pair of delicate pearl earrings - timeless, simple, and full of quiet meaning.
As David disappeared down the road, Lira stood in the doorway, holding the earrings close to her heart.
And Seven, watching her mother from behind, realized that sometimes, the things left unsaid between two people speak louder than anything words could carry.
Rest of the day on the mountain passed slowly and peacefully, and evening arrived
The whole day, Seven's mind kept spinning in restless circles.
No matter what she did — setting the table, helping in bakery, stirring the soup — her thoughts clung to one thing:
Why hadn't her mother invited David to her wedding?
And should she ask again about her father?
The questions pulsed like a second heartbeat under her skin, impossible to ignore.
Heavy and bitter.
She still remembered, clearly, like it had just happened - the day she had stood in front of her mother, barely fourteen, voice shaking with all the anger and hurt she couldn't hide anymore.
She had declared that she would no longer use the last name her mother gave her - because it wasn't her father's, and she had the right to know who he was.
But Lira hadn't argued back.
She hadn't shouted or explained.
She had just... fallen silent.
And that silence had lasted a week.
A week of cold rooms and heavy footsteps.
A week where even the softest of whispers felt too loud.
A week where Seven learned that some walls, once built, refuse to come down.
Since then, she had introduced herself simply as "Seven."
No last name.
Just Seven — alone, floating in a world stitched together by names and legacies.
The argument had never been spoken of again.
And so, her anger made her name alone and the ache stayed, too, like a bruise that never fully faded.
Now, sitting in the warm kitchen, Seven felt herself stuck , trapped between the sharpness of wanting to know and the fear of losing the fragile peace they had built.
Her chest felt tight, her hands restless.
She needed something, anything, to pour herself into.
Some way to exclude the noise out of her head.
Without thinking too much, she pulled out the old, stained recipe book - the one with smudges on every page and little notes she had scribbled in the margins - and flipped it open to the page she always returned to when her heart felt too big and too sore.
The Ritual Cake.
The first thing she had ever invented in the kitchen when she was still just a beginner - a mess of flour and sugar and stubbornness that somehow, miraculously, had turned into something sweet.
Seven gathered the ingredients slowly, almost reverently.
Every crack of an egg, every sift of flour, was a way to stitch herself back together, piece by piece.
As she worked, the kitchen filled with the soft, familiar scent of vanilla and warm butter, wrapping around her like an old, understanding friend.
And for now - just for now - that was enough.
------
Later, after dinner, she went to her room with a small plate of freshly baked cake and a spoon.
She set the plate on the windowsill, pulled the chair near the desk, and sat down.
She took a bite. The edges were soft and perfect.
As the flavors melted in her mouth, she closed her eyes and savored it.
Then, she pulled out the letter tucked under her pillow and carefully poked a hole in the letter and hung it beside the other two already swaying in the night breeze.
She glanced outside before closing the window and locking it.
Plate in hand, she went to the kitchen, washed it, and placed it back with the rest of the clean dishes.
Just as she was about to leave the kitchen, she heard footsteps, soft and slow, as if someone was walking toward the door.
But when she turned to look, no one was there.
One of the shelves stood empty, where the cake she baked for herself had been placed but now it was gone.
It had gone missing, and she hadn't even noticed.
Seven closed the kitchen door behind her and returned to her room, finally ready for the sleep she'd been needing.
---