The forbidden love of a heliotrope

Chapter 6: The Dawn of Realization

The tavern buzzed with life, but within the small, quiet corner that Oscar and Móyù had claimed, the world felt distant. Móyù sipped her drink slowly, her eyes flickering over to Oscar more often than she would have liked. Each day spent in his company blurred the edges of her reality, the rhythmic rising and setting of the sun marking time, but also marking the slow unraveling of her heart.

Móyù had thought herself above human emotions-detached, always the manipulator, never the manipulated. But now, as she watched Oscar laugh softly at something the tavern keeper said, she felt something inside her shift. It wasn't drastic, but it was undeniable.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the tavern in shades of amber and gold, Móyù realized that it was in these small, seemingly insignificant moments that she was losing herself to something she never intended to feel.

---

The next few days passed like this-quiet, steady, and routine. Every morning, as the sun rose, Oscar would prepare for another day of his journey to prove his worth as a priest, and Móyù would accompany him, teasing him endlessly. But lately, their banter felt different. Softer. Warmer.

One morning, as the sun peeked over the horizon, casting long shadows over the village, Móyù watched Oscar from a distance. He was kneeling in prayer, as he did every morning, his head bowed and hands clasped together. She couldn't hear the words, but she knew what he prayed for: the recognition of the goddess he served, Astraea, the goddess of celibacy.

The very thought made Móyù's chest tighten with something bitter, and she couldn't quite explain why.

Oscar had told her about the goddess once, in a quiet moment during their travels. She was a deity who valued purity, self-restraint, and devotion above all else-qualities that Oscar had dedicated his life to embodying. But despite his faith and his efforts, the goddess had forgotten him, leaving him adrift, struggling to find meaning in a vow that seemed to lead nowhere.

Móyù had never cared much for gods. She had seen enough of them from the edges of human dreams and nightmares to know that they were just as flawed as mortals. And yet, here was Oscar, endlessly striving to earn the approval of a goddess who had all but abandoned him.

What a fool, she thought, her lips twitching into a smirk. And yet, there was something about his determination, his quiet strength, that drew her in. She hated it. And yet... she couldn't look away.

---

Each day became a montage of moments that slowly shaped both of them. Móyù, in her own way, helped Oscar become better at his role, even if she did it under the guise of teasing.

One evening, as they sat by a campfire under the stars, Oscar pulled out a small, worn book-the scriptures of his faith. Móyù snorted in amusement.

"Still trying to impress your goddess, I see," she teased, leaning back against a tree. "Not that it's working."

Oscar looked up from the book, his expression soft but determined. "I may not be the best priest, but I can't just give up. Maybe I wasn't born with a natural gift for it, but that doesn't mean I can't improve."

Móyù rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless. Why not try something that actually suits you?"

Oscar's gaze didn't waver. "Because this is what I'm meant to do. I know it. Even if-even if she's forgotten me, I believe I'm still worthy of her guidance."

For a moment, Móyù felt a pang of something she couldn't name. His faith was unwavering, even when faced with the indifference of the goddess he served. It was something she couldn't understand-this devotion to someone who might never acknowledge him.

But despite herself, Móyù found that she wanted to help him. Maybe it was because of the growing warmth inside her, the one that crept in with each sunrise and sunset. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because Oscar's determination reminded her of something she had lost long ago.

---

Over the next few days, Móyù began to subtly guide Oscar, though she never admitted that was what she was doing. She pointed out small ways he could improve-suggesting different approaches to his prayers, mocking him for his mistakes but secretly hoping he'd learn from them. And, slowly, he did.

One afternoon, as they walked through a quiet village, Oscar stopped to speak with a group of children playing in the street. Móyù watched from a distance, arms crossed, as Oscar knelt down to their level, speaking to them with a kindness that was almost painful to witness.

"You remind me of the god my mama talks about," one of the children said, their eyes wide with awe.

Oscar smiled softly, but Móyù saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes. She knew he didn't feel worthy of such comparisons, not yet. But the way the children looked at him-the way their faces lit up as he spoke to them about faith, about hope-it was clear that, to them, he was already a figure of reverence.

Maybe you're more of a priest than you realize, Móyù thought, though she would never say it out loud.

---

That night, after the sun had set and the stars had taken their place in the sky, Móyù found herself watching Oscar again, as she had so many times before. But this time, something was different. The warmth inside her had grown, spreading like the light of the rising sun, and she couldn't ignore it anymore.

Each sunrise brought her closer to him, and each sunset made it harder to pull away.

As the moon rose high above, she felt a sudden urge to reach out to him, to express the jumble of emotions swirling within her. But then she remembered the heliotrope flowers she had seen in the village-their delicate purple petals, vibrant and fragrant, symbolizing devotion and love.

She had picked a few, tucking them away in her pack, their scent lingering in the air around her. In that moment, they became a silent reminder of the bond she was forming with Oscar. A bond that was as beautiful as it was terrifying.

And as she lay beneath the stars, her gaze drifting to the heavens, she thought of the goddess-the one who had forgotten Oscar, the one who didn't deserve his devotion. Móyù wondered if that goddess knew what she was missing. If she knew what kind of man Oscar was becoming.

For Móyù, the realization was slow, like the first light of dawn creeping over the horizon. But it was there, undeniable and unshakable.

She was falling for him. And it terrified her.

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Word count: 1132

[no flower facts today sorry]