It was a sunny Thursday morning at Halewood Elementary.
The air was filled with chalk dust, children's laughter, and the scent of freshly opened paint bottles.Art class had just begun — the favorite time of the week for Class 1-B.
As always, Lysia and Caelum sat side by side, crayons and watercolors laid out between them like treasures.
The assignment?
Draw a place where you feel safe and happy.
A Dream in Crayon
Lysia's paper quickly filled with swirls of purple trees, pink clouds, and a house with books for walls.She drew Caelum and herself standing under a giant apricot tree, holding hands, with matching star pins in their hair.
Her eyes sparkled. She was humming softly.
Caelum leaned over.
"Your tree's shadow is… upside-down," he said gently.
Lysia blinked. "Huh?"
He pointed. "The light is coming from this side. So the shadow should fall here, not there."
She stared at it.
Then looked at him.
Her smile faded. Just a little.
"Oh," she said. Quietly. "Okay."
The Cold Space Between Them
After that, she stopped humming.
She didn't speak during lunch.Didn't share her juice like she usually did.Didn't tap his shoe under the table.
Caelum noticed.
Of course he did.
He tried to walk beside her after class.
But she skipped ahead.
And when he reached the gate and turned to say goodbye, Lysia gave a quick, silent wave—
Then disappeared behind her fence.
That Evening
He stood at his window.
Usually, she waved.
Held up signs.Wrote silly notes.Blew kisses with both hands.
Tonight?
Nothing.
Her curtains were drawn.
And for the first time in days, Caelum felt something unfamiliar in his chest.
He had survived the loss of gods.Watched worlds fall.
But nothing had ever hurt like this:
A five-year-old girl who wouldn't look at him.
His Apology
He didn't sleep.
Not because he couldn't.
Because he wanted to fix it.
So, with the tip of his pencil and the back of a notebook page, he did something uncharacteristically childish:
He drew.
It was messy. Imperfect.Lines wobbled. The sun looked like a broken egg.But it showed a little girl in pigtails sitting under a too-tall apricot tree, laughing as a boy offered her a flower.
At the top, in crooked writing, were five words:
"I like your tree better."
The Morning After
He stood at her front door at 7:00 AM sharp.
His backpack was slightly crooked.His shoes were mismatched.
But his hand held a folded piece of paper.
Lysia opened the door in her school uniform, sleepy-eyed, hair uncombed.
She blinked.
"Cael?"
He said nothing.
Just held out the drawing.
She unfolded it.
Looked at it.
And slowly—so slowly—smiled.
The First Hug
Without a word, she stepped forward—
And wrapped her tiny arms around his waist.
He froze.
Then, almost breathlessly, hugged her back.
Her voice was muffled against his shirt.
"I wasn't mad at you. I just… wanted you to like my picture without fixing it."
"I did like it," he said. "It felt like home."
Her grip tightened.
"You're my favorite again," she whispered.
Caelum felt something warm bloom in his chest.
He smiled softly. "You were never not my favorite."
System Log — Physical Contact Level 2
[GENESIS CORE SYSTEM – OBSERVER MODE]— Emotional Event: Apology + Mutual Hug— Soul Synchronization: 1.2% (+0.4%)— Emotional Register: Soft Ache / Healing Joy— System Note: Human "disagreements" result in stronger bonding after resolution. Curious.
Caelum dismissed the notification without reading further.
Because Lysia was still hugging him.
And in that moment—
Even eternity could wait.