Chapter 1 Is this the beginning?

The stars didn't just shine; they winked, beckoning Stella deeper into the indigo haze of the dream. The breeze was sharp, piercing her skin with a familiar chill that made her knees wobble.

"How many times..." she whispered, her voice swallowed by the silver air. "How many times must I come back here?"

As if in answer, the lake began to shimmer. Ripples of light pointed like a compass toward the Tree of Fireflies. Under its glowing canopy stood a figure—a silhouette she knew by heart, even if her mind couldn't place his name. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She took a step. Then four.

Six... seven... ten.

She stopped, her breath hitching. Is this right? Should I go to him? Her thoughts were a cluttered mess, yet her feet moved of their own accord, gliding over the grass until the figure became clear.

"You are here," the man said.

When their eyes met, the distance between them vanished. The space of a few inches felt like a vast canyon she was dying to cross. She wanted to collapse against his chest, to bury her face in his warmth and find the records of his scent in her memory. His eyes were the color of a clear summer sky—tender and aching with a long-forgotten longing. Stella felt like the dark side of the moon: hidden, fidgety, and clueless.

"Hi," she breathed, the word nearly lost to the thumping of her heart.

He smiled, a radiant thing. "Hi."

RIIIIINGGG!!!!

The sky-blue eyes vanished, replaced by the harsh morning light of Glaslough.

"Ugh, why?" Stella groaned, grabbing her alarm clock and burying it under her pillow to stifle its scream. She squinted against the sun streaming into the room she shared with her Nana.

Stella Henderson was twenty-four, and according to her alarm clock, she was late. She lived in a house where the scent of old books met the sweet aroma of yeast and sugar—the bakery downstairs was the heart of their small village.

"Good morning!" A weight suddenly crashed onto her bed.

"Lalaine? Is it too early for you to be this loud?" Stella muffled her voice into the mattress.

"Duh! It’s my day off," Lalaine said, pulling the pillow off Stella’s head. "I refuse to be stuck at home with that hooligan brother of mine. Besides, it’s 10:30 AM!"

"Still early," Stella grumbled, reaching for the covers, but Lalaine was faster.

"Come on! Nana Upeng already baked the pandesal. The neighbors are buying them all up—I haven’t even had one yet!" Lalaine pouted, her ocean-blue eyes wide and pleading.

Stella finally dragged herself upright, feeling the "magnetic force" of the bed trying to pull her back. As she shuffled toward the bathroom, she caught Lalaine staring at the wind chimes in the window.

"Are you sure they’ll come today?" Lalaine asked softly.

"A hundred percent!" Stella called out over the splash of the shower.

The water hit her like tiny knives. As she lathered her hair, she winced. Her jet-black strands felt like dried seaweed again. Nana always told her to use the conditioner, but in the rush of her dreams, she always forgot.

When she emerged, towel-drying her hair, she found Lalaine raiding her desk. Stella’s desk was a legendary disaster—a jigsaw puzzle of sketches, notes, and fabric scraps that somehow made sense only to her.

"Lala! Nana’s calling!"

Lalaine peeked out the window at Nana Upeng, who was setting the patio table amidst the radiant morning flowers. "You’re awfully chipper today," Stella noted, seeing the faint blush on her friend's cheeks. "Is it because Natty might show up at the orphanage?"

Lalaine’s eyes widened, and she quickly grabbed the blow-dryer. "I d-don't know! But there’s a ninety percent chance..." She started humming to hide her excitement as she worked on Stella's curls.