Til There Was You - Dr. Harvey x Farmer, Leah x Shane Stardew Valley Fic

prologue - jensen

It was a crisp autumn Friday at Zuzu State University when my phone rang, interrupting the rhythm of my footsteps as I walked home alone from class. I had just finished my finance class and was looking forward to the end of another week. It was my mom on the other end of the line, her voice filled with a mix of anxiety and profound sadness. She delivered the news that would forever alter the course of my life - my grandpa had been diagnosed with cancer. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement.

I hadn't seen my grandpa in quite a long time. Though my parents and I had spent my early childhood on his farm in Stardew Valley, those memories were hazy and distant. I vaguely remember the small wooden cottage, the rows of trees and crops, and some of the townspeople in the tight-knit community. However, one of the things that stood out the most vividly in my mind were my grandfather's chickens. They were a sight to behold as a curious child, their plump bodies and fluffy feathers radiating warmth and familiarity. I can still remember the many days I spent as a toddler chasing after them and giggling with glee while their clucks and squawks filled the air.

But there was one moment with these chickens that resonated with me deeply. One day as I was chasing one, out of annoyance or perhaps just curiosity, it pecked at my tiny hand, drawing a bead of blood. The sting and the ensuing tears seemed monumental back then, amplified by my young age. But my grandpa, always such a gentle man, scooped me up in his arms and carried me inside. He set me down on the cold kitchen counter and bandaged my small wound. And as he worked his magic, his voice, soft and soothing, spoke words of wisdom that would echo through my years, shaping my perspective on life.

"It's okay, honey," he said, his voice like a comforting lullaby. "You'll never learn until you try. Sometimes things don't work out the way we expect, but that's how we grow. Now you know."

Those words, "You'll never know unless you try," became a like a silent mantra to me. I had thought about them growing up every time a new opportunity presented itself, and it had never failed me. And now, throughout my uncertainty in my college years, it had become a flickering ember of hope in the back of my mind. I had always dreaded the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Well, I didn't know. I wasn't grown up yet! I'd figure it out.

And now here I was, all grown up, and still without a clue. An artist? A scientist? A nurse? A teacher? It sometimes felt as if I was just wandering through life, grasping at fragments of ambition that just ended up slipping through my fingers like sand. To my parents and professors, I tried to act like I had it all together, but I often questioned whether I would ever find my true calling.

Eventually I made the decision to pursue a business degree, a choice born more out of obligation and fear of disappointment than genuine passion. I didn't want to be seen as a failure to my family, and with no alternative plans in sight, I convinced myself that business was a safe bet. I clung to the hope that time and experience would eventually guide me toward a fulfilling future. However, as three years rolled by, those hopes slowly faded, replaced by a constant battle against the nagging doubts that I constantly had to push out of my mind.

Soon after that initial phone call, I received the devastating news that my grandpa was in critical condition, and the urgency to return home engulfed me like a tidal wave. With a heavy heart, I boarded the first bus back to Stardew Valley on Sunday, my mind swirling with a chaotic mix of emotions. All I could seem to think about were the foggy memories I had of the farm. The scent of fresh soil, the vibrant colors of the crops, and the comforting sounds of nature echoed in my mind.

As I settled into the worn-out bus seat, the rumble of the engine and the gentle vibration beneath me created a familiar rhythm. The bus, with its faded blue upholstery and dented metal, carried a sense of nostalgia. The windows, smudged with fingerprints and specks of dust, framed the passing scenery of rolling countryside and quaint little towns.