Azalea Rose Willow loves three things above everything else:
summer, the only season that mattered in her mind.
singing, alongside the comforting embrace of her guitar.
but above all, the easy camaraderie with the boy who lives next door to her, and...
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The salty breeze ruffled Azalea's hair as she pushed open the familiar door of the Andersen shop. Still damp from her grueling training session with her father on the beach, she scanned the room, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple. Bruno, tinkering with a wind chime, looked up and grinned.
Azalea pushed open the door of the Andersen shop, a wave of cool air washing over her sweaty form. Her training session with her dad on the beach had been brutal, and her muscles screamed in protest with every step.
"Whoa, looks like someone got put through the wringer," Bruno chuckled, leaning against the counter.
Lukka, wiping down a shelf nearby, added, "Tomas must be trying to turn you into a gladiator."
Azalea managed a weak smile, the humor not quite reaching her eyes. The truth was, she didn't mind the grueling workouts. They were a welcome distraction from the whirlpool of emotions swirling within her after her encounters with Finnick.
"Just a regular Saturday morning session," she muttered, scanning the room with a forced casualness.
Lukka, emerging from the back with a stack of books, chuckled. "He's a madman, that's for sure. Remember that time he made you swim laps in the freezing lake in January?"
Azalea's smile strained. The memory was etched in her mind, a testament to her father's brutal training regime.
But she couldn't deny its effectiveness. It had honed her skills, made her stronger, faster, more prepared for the Games that loomed on the horizon by the end of the summer.
"Speaking of memories," she began quickly, changing the subject before the conversation delved deeper into her anxieties, "did I, by any chance, leave my songbook here yesterday?"
Lukka's brows furrowed as he scratched his chin in thought. "Let me see..." he said, disappearing into the back room again.
Relief washed over Azalea as Lukka emerged moments later, holding a familiar worn leather book.
"Found it," he declared, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He flipped open the first page with a flourish, reading out loud,
"DO NOT READ! (I'm excellent at knife throwing. Will not hesitate if I find you!)." He choked out the last part, his eyes wide.
Azalea snatched the book back, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Lukka, you know better than anyone I wouldn't hesitate," she said, her voice laced with mock seriousness.
Lukka chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew all too well about Azalea's hidden talents, and the songbook was her most prized possession.
It wasn't just a collection of songs; it was her diary, filled with heartfelt lyrics, private reflections, and perhaps most importantly, secrets about a certain someone.
