The roosters crowed across the wide, open fields as the first rays of sunlight touched the hills. Dew sparkled on the rice paddies, and the soft scent of wet earth drifted through the small wooden house.

Light had already been awake for hours.

Not because she had to be—but because she loved mornings like this. Quiet. Peaceful. Steady.

She sat at the old table, reviewing a worn-out textbook while waiting for breakfast. Her mother stood by the stove, stirring a pot of porridge.

"Light, don't study while eating," her mother said gently without turning around.

"I'm not eating yet," Light replied, eyes still fixed on the page.

Her mother let out a small laugh. "Always with your books... just like your father."

Light froze for a moment.

Her father. A man she had never seen in person. He had died from an illness before she was even born—gone before she ever opened her eyes to the world. All she knew of him was a single photograph hanging on their wall. In it, he was smiling like he had never known sadness.

After his death, Light and her mother moved in with her father's parents—her grandparents. They lived just a few steps away in another simple wooden house. They were kind, quiet people who spent most of their days tending to the fields. They treated Light's mother like their own daughter.

But when it came to Light's mother's side of the family... there was nothing.

No names. No stories. No visits.

Whenever Light asked about them, her mother would simply say, "You don't need to worry about that. We're fine as we are."

So Light stopped asking.

"Breakfast is ready," her mother said, placing a bowl in front of her.

"Thank you," Light answered softly.

They ate in comfortable silence. Outside, dogs barked in the distance, and neighbors called out to one another as the town slowly came to life. It was the same every day. Simple. Warm. Familiar.

This was home.

And for the first time in her life, Light was afraid.

She didn't know that soon, her peaceful mornings would come to an end.

She had no idea that everything she knew was about to change.

After breakfast, Light rinsed the dishes and stepped outside. The morning breeze brushed against her skin, warm and familiar. She could hear her grandparents talking near the field, their voices muffled by distance but comforting all the same.

Every corner of this place held a memory.

The old mango tree where she used to climb and hide whenever she didn't want to study.

The creek where she washed vegetables with her grandmother every afternoon.

The narrow dirt path that led to the town's only school—a path she had walked thousands of times since she was six.

She stood there quietly, watching the sunlight scatter across the paddies like glittering shards of gold. Most girls her age dreamed of city lights or crowded malls, but Light... she had never wanted more than this.

A simple life. A peaceful one.

But deep inside her chest, beneath layers of contentment, there was something else—

A pull.

A quiet, persistent whisper telling her she was meant for something beyond this small town.

She didn't know if that whisper was ambition... or guilt.

Because although she loved this place, she also knew her mother deserved more than endless days of labor under the sun. She wished she could give her comfort. Security. A better life.

And if she had to leave everything she loved to make that happen...

Then she would.

Light took one last look at the fields before going back inside. She didn't know why, but something about today felt different. As if the air itself was holding its breath, waiting.

She brushed the thought aside.

There was still water to fetch. Laundry to do. And later, she promised to help her grandfather patch the chicken coop fence.

Just another ordinary day.

Or so she thought.

"Light!"

The familiar voice rang across the field. Light turned just in time to see Betty waving wildly from beyond the fence, almost tripping over a pile of firewood.

Betty never walked anywhere—she bounced, hopped, or stumbled her way through life.

In her arms was a straw basket overflowing with freshly picked guavas.

"You forgot we're going to the river today!" she accused dramatically. "Do you know how hard I climbed for these? I was inches away from death!"

"You climbed the same guava tree you've climbed since we were five," Light replied without looking up from sweeping the yard. "And you fall from it every single time."

Betty gasped. "That's called tradition."

Light shook her head, hiding a smile. "Give me one."

Betty grinned in triumph and handed her the biggest guava in the basket.

They walked down the familiar dirt path leading to the river. The road was lined with tall grass brushing against their legs and wildflowers peeking between rocks. Birds chirped loudly overhead as if gossiping about their arrival.

"You know," Betty started, kicking a pebble, "if you get into that city school, they probably don't even have guava trees there."

"I'm sure they have different fruits," Light said.

"Like what?"

"Apples."

Betty scrunched her nose. "Ugh. Fancy boring fruits."

Light laughed softly. "I've never tasted one."

"I have," Betty said proudly. "Last year. My cousin brought one from the city."

"And?"

"Tasted like disappointment," she declared.

Light choked on her guava.

⸻

They reached the river, its water glistening like scattered glass under the sun. Children were already swimming nearby, while a few older women washed clothes on the rocks.

Betty wasted no time—she dumped the basket on the shore and dove straight in.

"Come on!" she yelled, splashing water everywhere. "Before all the fish run away from my beauty!"

"As if they haven't already," Light muttered, setting her slippers aside before stepping into the cool water.

The river was shallow at the banks, the stones smooth beneath her feet. The cold sent a shiver up her spine, but it was refreshing—like the morning dew in her lungs.

Betty floated on her back. "If you leave," she said suddenly, voice quieter than the river. "Promise you'll visit me. Or at least write letters."

Light paused. "I haven't even been accepted yet."

"You will," Betty said firmly. "You're the smartest person in town. Even the teachers are scared of you."

"They are not scared of me."

"They are," Betty insisted with a serious nod. "I saw them once fighting over who would grade your test. No one wanted to be the one you proved wrong."

Light laughed so hard she nearly slipped.

They spent hours swimming, splashing, talking about nonsense—boys they would never like, chores they wished would disappear, the stars they watched every night. Betty even tried to balance a guava on her forehead and declared herself Queen of Rivertown.

Light wished she could freeze the moment.

Because deep in her heart, she knew—

If the letter ever came, she wouldn't get many more days like this.

⸻

When the sun dipped slightly westward, they finally made their way back home. Their hair dripped down their backs, and their skin glowed bronze from the sun.

As they reached Light's house, Betty slowed down.

Light noticed too soon.

Her mother was standing outside, frozen in place.

Holding a white envelope.

Her hands trembled slightly—not from exhaustion, but from something else.

Something heavier.

Betty stopped walking.

Light's heartbeat quickened.

No one said a word.

The wind rustled through the trees, but everything else fell silent.

Light's gaze locked onto the seal on the envelope—

North Crest Academy.

Her mother looked at her with eyes full of pride and fear.

And in that moment...

Light understood.

Everything was about to change.