The Letter That Changed Everything

"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.