Chapter 4: The Memory Of Youth

I was seven years old when I met Lark.

It was late afternoon, and the sun was beginning to soften into gold. The park was quiet, save for the creak of the old swing set and the occasional chirp of birds heading home.

I was alone, gently swinging back and forth, humming a song I’d made up on the spot—somewhere between melancholy and hopeful. I liked the quiet. It made it easier to pretend I was invisible.

That’s when he showed up.

A boy with messy dark hair, a slightly oversized shirt, and cautious eyes. He stood near the edge of the park, clutching a juice box in one hand, the other shoved deep in his pocket.

He watched me for a moment before speaking. “Hi.”

I slowed the swing with my feet. “Hi.”

“I just moved here,” he said, walking closer. “I don’t know anyone.”

I blinked at him. “Why are you telling me?”

He shrugged. “You’re the only person here. And you were singing.”

My cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t singing. Just… humming.”

He smiled, small but warm. “It sounded nice.”

I studied him for a moment, then scooted over on the swing. “Want a turn?”

He sat on the swing next to me instead. “I’m Lark.”

“Margaret.”

We sat in silence for a bit, just swinging side by side.

Then, out of nowhere, he pulled a slightly squished sandwich from his pocket and tore it in half. “Want some?”

I frowned. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yeah, but you look like someone who could use a friend.”

And just like that, I smiled.

From that day forward, we were inseparable.

Swing partners turned walking buddies. Walking buddies turned homework partners. He became the boy who always saved me a seat at lunch, who knocked on my door every weekend with some new plans, bike rides, tree climbing, treasure hunts.

He made the world feel less lonely.

Middle school came and went. He was there when I had my first big disappointment, when I didn’t make it into the advanced class. He was there when I published my first story in the school newsletter, telling everyone it was “better than Harry Potter.”

And I was there for him too. Through homesickness, failed math quizzes, and fights with his older brother.

We weren’t in love. Not yet.

We were just kids. Two souls orbiting each other, tied together by something invisible and powerful.

High school changed everything.

He got taller. His voice deepened. Girls started paying attention.

But he still looked at me like I was the only one in the room.

One night, during a late walk home from a group project, he stopped on the sidewalk and turned to me.

“You know I’m going to marry you someday, right?”

I laughed. “Sure, Lark.”

He smiled, eyes full of certainty. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

And I didn’t say no. I just looked away, hoping—believing we had all the time in the world.

But time doesn’t wait.