sweet tea. -tkam

in passing.

-3rd pov–

       Days passed so differently for Atticus and Daisy, both so unaware that they would grow close one day. They knew of each other, thought well of each other, and occasionally one would cross the other's mind. Atticus would see Daisy each morning on the way to work, usually out in her garden, and each afternoon as he came home whilst she would indulge in hobbies or play with Scout. 

      Neither of them has changed the pace of each other's lives, for Daisy, her life had already changed so much. But for him, he did the exact thing he had done for years. Having worked his job for over twenty years now, and having his eldest child being 12, things had settled into a kind of complacent lifestyle. Though he knew he could seek a better life, he wasn't unhappy as it was, and felt as though he was growing too old to change anything. He walked along the same street as he always had, said good morning, good afternoon, and good evening to the same folks, and came home again to the same bedroom. 

       Only now, for six years, a part of him had been missing. For the past six years, his bed was empty beside him, the supper table was never full, and once the children went to sleep, the house was depressingly silent. The six years had been bittersweet, though spent without his late wife Jean, scout and Jem had grown, and he had been there to see it. There was some comfort in the settled life, but the settled life he led had been shaped around a family that was no longer whole, yet the cycle was left unaltered. Each day doing the same thing, he was unknowingly growing weary of it all.

           And maybe that was the reason he felt so drawn to just watch the young woman go about her days, carefree, fickle, and so perfectly natural. She had a glow of ecstaticity about her as she went about her chores, a joy that was so rarely seen in an age of time as theirs. The smile she would always wear was enough to warm the heart of any man, but most alluring was the innocent exuberance Daisy had about life.

        A sense of wonder that was only really seen in children, that she had managed to hold close to her heart for all those years to let it flourish now at last. It all started as part of his routine, saying good morning, good evening, and good afternoon to the young woman. Just like he did anyone else, passing her house. 

        But he found himself interested to see what she might be up to each time he did. Her activities never failed to amuse in in some sense, some in the way that she reminded him of scout, some in the way that her clumsy self was entertaining, and some in the way that her peaceful soul was showing. But sweetest of all was her bright smile as she waved back to him each time he passed. Though the innocent observation of her that he did seemed one-sided, she too had found herself eager to see him each day. 

        He had become a comfortably reliable sense of routine in her life now, knowing each morning and each afternoon he would tip his hat to her and greet her with a friendly nod to follow. And at supper time when she would herd Scout home, he would thank her kindly and bid her a good evening from the porch. 

        There had been days when he would go in for work early, or late, and Daisy would sit out on the porch, or in her front lawn, waiting for him to pass. She would feel silly for feeling so down when he never came, as their interactions were nothing more than neighborly greetings. But his greetings had become a part of her day, likewise, passing her house and observing her briefly had become a part of his. 

         Daisy would find herself wondering if he noticed when she wore a new handmade dress, and he would find himself noticing even the accessories she would always wear. The set of pearl earrings, and often the pearl necklace. Or when she fashioned flowers in her blonde hair, when she had her hair done up in a bandana or headband, and when she wore pants or overalls rather than a dress. 

       How she paired rainboots with a dress, how her legs were always covered in bandaids, each freckle scattered about her face, or how her nose would scrunch when she smiled. Daisy would begin to notice how he styled his hair, or how he always held himself. The subtle smiles he would give her, and the brown color of his eyes.

         They had, in the slightest sense of it, become part of each other's routines. Though they had truly spoken few times before, they both had an odd sense that they knew each other well. Though they could hardly say they were more than acquaintances, they would always notice each other. 

      Maybe it was solely because he was handsome and she was pretty, that they would spend any time looking at each other, but if so, it was subconscious. He didn't greet her because it was her, and she didn't respond because it was him, yet they both had fallen into a sync of innocent allure. Though it was only in passing, they had drifted into the lives of one another some way.