Chapter 2

Ayla took a sip of the lemonade and entered with Damian. The cooling spell hadn’t been activated inside the Caelum building yet, so the windows were left open.

“Ayla. Where do you want to sit?”

A whisper carried on the wind reached her ears. Ayla stopped in her tracks, startled. The tickling breath made her ears hot.

“Ayla?”

She felt Damian’s puzzled gaze on her. Ayla gulped down the lemonade to cool the strange heat that lingered. Though her head buzzed from the cold liquid rushing in, it wasn’t something to worry about too much.

“Why are you suddenly like this?”

“…Oh. It’s a bit hot.”

Damian’s gaze remained puzzled. Hot when there’s such a breeze? But before he could ask, Ayla was already striding away. Damian looked down at his right hand, which had become heavier. The cup with only ice left was thrust into his hand. It was a clear message to throw away the trash.

Damian made the cup disappear with a single gesture, without a word. Then he followed behind Ayla.

Unlike during exam periods, there were seats available everywhere in the sparsely populated reading room. Ayla chose a spot by the window where the breeze was blowing. Damian, following behind, sat across from her. They were the only two at the large desk.

Ayla placed the book she had brought on the desk. It was Classical Literature History, where she had made as many as three mistakes in this midterm exam. Ayla extended her hand to Damian. Damian looked at Ayla’s hand with a puzzled expression. Then, as if suddenly realizing something, he waved his finger once with an “Ah” expression. A cup of lemonade appeared in Ayla’s hand.

Ayla looked at Damian with cold eyes. She whispered.

“What are you doing?”

“Huh? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I meant give me your notes.”

“I didn’t bring them.”

“…”

For a moment, Ayla thought about pouring this lemonade over Damian. But she decided against it, considering their years of history. However, she couldn’t help the rising heat. Ayla once again gulped down the lemonade in her hand. After carefully placing the empty cup down, Ayla spoke.

“Then why did you come here?”

“Because you won’t play with me?”

“…”

How on earth could this guy always be at the top of the class? While she, who studied so diligently, was always second. It was so unfair. Really, so unfair.

“Then get lost.”

“That’s harsh.”

Damian drooped his eyes like a rain-soaked puppy. It might have softened someone else’s heart, but it didn’t work on Ayla, who had known him for 10 years. Ayla was steadfast. If Damian didn’t have his notes, Damian was unnecessary.

Ayla shifted her gaze to the book. The questions she had gotten wrong began to surface one by one in her mind. The exemplary Ayla soon forgot about Damian and focused on the book. Damian rested his chin on his hand and quietly watched her.

The wind blowing through the window made her hair, like honey melted in sunlight, sway. Damian clenched his hand that seemed about to reach out even for a moment. Ayla. It was a name like a melody. He repeated the name in his mouth. Ayla. Ayla. My childhood friend. My…

How long would it be until Ayla could call his name? How much longer could he endure in this stagnant situation?

Ayla. You don’t know how much I’ve regretted my younger self. 

* * * 

How much time had passed? As the breeze turned cooler, Ayla finally looked up from her book. Her neck and shoulders were stiff, her eyes dry. She closed them, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension. Massaging her neck, she opened her eyes only to be captivated by a shimmering light. Her hand reached out instinctively before she quickly withdrew it.

Damian lay fast asleep, his lack of books a testament to his true intentions. Ayla couldn’t help but chuckle wryly. If he wasn’t here to study, why not entertain himself or hang out with others? Why insist on her company?

People always flocked around Damian, drawn to his status as Crown Prince. Yet, he only approached her. Perhaps it was their childhood connection, though Ayla hesitated to call it friendship. To her, he was just an annoyance now—an “evil friend” if anything.

Friend. The word gave her pause. Should she be grateful that the Crown Prince still considered her a friend despite her rudeness? This casual relationship that defied social norms…

How long could this continue?

Next year would be their last at the Academy, with graduation the following year. If her grades held, she’d graduate second in class and secure a special appointment as an Imperial civil servant. As a low-ranking official, she’d rarely see Damian anymore. What business would a minor bureaucrat have with the Crown Prince?

As their lives diverged, even casual greetings would become rare. Especially if Damian married—no wife would welcome her husband’s long-time female friend.

These spiraling thoughts pricked at Ayla’s heart.

“You’re quite the problem, Ayla Dürman,” she muttered self-mockingly, reaching out to touch Damian’s silvery hair. It felt like moonlight slipping through her fingers. Her moon had always hung beautifully in the night sky, forever out of reach despite her relentless pursuit. How long had it taken her to realize that a mere human could never grasp the moon?

Foolish, silly Ayla.

She withdrew her hand. She knew about his late-night study sessions in the dormitory, his sword training to avoid over-reliance on magic. He was forging his own path, while she merely followed in his wake.

Ayla gathered her books and stood. The scraping chair echoed in the quiet library, now empty save for them as the red sunset faded. She left only a brief note before departing:

[Leaving first.]

* * * 

“Ayla, how could you be so cruel to me?” Damian whined, sliding into the seat next to her during their first-period Modern Literature class. Ayla, ignoring him completely, closed her eyes and began to meditate—a practice from the Eastern Continent that her sister Eileen had recommended for clearing the mind. Eileen had also pleaded with her to stop writing about “that guy” in her letters. Ayla had clicked her tongue at that. Cheeky Eileen, thinking she could tell her older sister what to do.

“Ayla, are you really going to be like this?”

“Yes, Your Highness, I am,” Ayla responded, using the title she knew Damian despised.

Damian’s expression soured. “I told you not to call me that,” he said, his voice cold.

Ayla opened her eyes, discovering Damian’s sullen face. Oh no, he was genuinely upset. She wanted to slap herself for her loose tongue. She could have continued ignoring him, making her life easier, but ten years of history pricked at her conscience. This was why she could never fully ignore him.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I was wrong,” she offered, though she didn’t feel particularly sorry.

“What exactly were you wrong about?” Damian pressed.

“Huh?”

“I asked what you did wrong.”

“…”

This felt oddly like a lover’s quarrel, with one party apologizing blindly without knowing what they’d done wrong. Was she really in this situation right now? The thought struck Ayla as strange, but she answered anyway.

“Using the title you told me not to use.”

“And?”

“And?”

“Yes, and?”

“…”

Ayla was at a loss. She decided to take a shot in the dark. “Leaving you at the library…?”

“Yes, that. You know you were wrong, right? Very wrong?”

“Yes… I was wrong, I suppose…”

Ayla felt exhausted. He didn’t used to be this persistent. Why had he become so clingy? Still, her apology seemed to have brightened his mood. Ayla sighed in relief, but at that moment, a familiar scent tickled her nose. Though faint, it was distinct to her—a scent etched in her memory.

She turned towards the source of the smell. A student was climbing the stairs of the two-story lecture hall. His back view was identical to the male student she’d seen yesterday—sturdy build, black hair. If he was in this class, they must be in the same department.

“Ayla? What are you looking at?”

“Damian, do you know who that is?”

Damian’s gaze followed Ayla’s, his voice dropping low. “Why do you ask?”

Oblivious to Damian’s tone, Ayla continued, “I bumped into him yesterday. He uses a unique perfume—it stuck in my memory.”

“…It stuck in your memory?”

Damian’s voice lowered further, accompanied by a grinding sound, but Ayla remained unaware.

“Yeah, it smelled like herbs or something.”

“…Herbs?”

Something seemed off. A Literature student smelling of herbs? Damian knew the student Ayla pointed out was a commoner. While perfume was no longer exclusive to nobles, it was still expensive for a commoner student. And herb scent, not wood or grass? His instincts told him something was amiss.

“It was a really unique herbal scent.”

Damian filed away her words. He’d need to look into this.

As the professor began taking attendance, Damian quietly observed the male student. Small build, brown hair. His name was Gilrota.