Inevitably Me

Chapter 13: A Glimpse of Red

Allora's steps were steady as she made her way home from school, the early evening sun casting long shadows on the sidewalk ahead. She clutched her worn, leather-bound journal close to her chest, her mind drifting over the blur of her day, the same winding path she took each afternoon providing a familiar rhythm that lulled her thoughts.

As she turned the corner near the old bookstore, something made her pause. Just a few steps ahead, two young children stood by the gate of a tiny, picket-fenced yard. A boy with a mop of unruly curls held a single red rose, its petals vibrant against the dimming light, and he extended it toward a girl standing beside him, her pigtails bouncing as she giggled shyly. He looked no older than five, his cheeks flushed with that endearing kind of nervousness, and she accepted the rose with the gentle reverence only a child could give.

Allora felt her heart tug. The sight struck a chord deep within her, tapping into a memory she hadn't summoned in ages. She stood still, watching the children for a moment longer, barely breathing as her mind spiraled back in time.

It was a different day entirely, nearly a lifetime ago in her mind, when she and Aiden were that young, both of them bundled into a tiny playschool classroom that smelled of crayons and glue sticks, a familiar scent of innocent mischief.

She could almost see the scene unfolding before her eyes, colors vivid and sounds sharp as if she'd been transported there in truth. The classroom was filled with children her age, each with their own lump of red playdough handed out by the teacher, Mrs. Morgan, who always wore the brightest scarves Allora had ever seen. Tiny chairs in all colors surrounded small tables, and young Allora, then barely four, sat across from Aiden.

She could still see his intense focus, his brow furrowing in concentration as his small fingers pinched, rolled, and shaped the dough with surprising care. His tongue stuck out slightly from the corner of his mouth, a sign of his determination, and Allora watched him curiously from her seat, her own playdough forgotten as she observed his handiwork.

One by one, Aiden placed his creations on the table in front of her: tiny red roses, each crafted with the same careful attention as the last. Allora's eyes widened, fascinated by his work and the steady rhythm of his hands as he created each new rose with as much care as the first. By the time he'd finished, ten little red roses lined the table in perfect order, a miniature garden that made Allora feel, even at that young age, something like happiness swelling in her chest.

"There," he'd announced proudly, looking at her with a shy but triumphant smile, his cheeks pink. "They're all for you, Allora. All of them."

Allora remembered staring at the little row of roses in amazement, unable to believe that someone had made something just for her. In that instant, she knew Aiden was special to her, even if she didn't yet understand the feeling. It was like the colors in the room brightened, the scent of crayons and glue more vivid, and the sounds of the classroom faded to nothing but his quiet, confident voice.

As she looked back on the moment now, standing on that sun-dappled sidewalk, she almost felt the smoothness of the playdough in her hands, remembered the texture of each rose she'd held as if she had never let go. The memory was like a warm bubble in her chest, reminding her of the simplicity of childhood—of how Aiden had always been so generous with his kindness, even when they were too young to understand what it meant.

The soft laughter of the children brought her back to the present. She blinked, watching as the girl held her rose to her nose, inhaling with closed eyes while the boy watched, pride shining in his small smile. Allora felt a sudden urge to smile with them, but at the same time, an ache she couldn't quite name.

The memory was beautiful, yet it left her feeling wistful, a quiet reminder of moments that were simple but filled with a sweetness she hadn't appreciated fully until now. Aiden's playdough roses had long since disappeared, as had that particular phase of their friendship, but seeing the children brought it all back, bright and unfiltered.

Turning away, Allora let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She continued down the path, her hand clenching the strap of her bag as if grounding herself back in the here and now. Yet the memory lingered, a faint warmth she carried with her, pulling her thoughts in a direction she hadn't ventured in quite a while.

The roses, Aiden's face, his words—they were pieces of her past, reminders that even the smallest gestures could leave an indelible mark on someone's heart. As she walked on, she wondered if he remembered those moments as she did, or if they were just tiny fragments in his mind, buried under all the years that had passed since.

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Thoughts on Chapter 13?

Love,

Phoenix <3