RIKI'S POV
"What do you wanna be when you grow up?" I blurt out, lying on the floor with Ava beside me, staring at the ceiling while the fire crackles softly in the background. The warmth of the flames dances against the shadows on the walls, and for a moment, I think she won't answer. Ava's good at that—pretending not to hear when the question is too heavy, too sharp for the quiet we're wrapped in.
It's the second day I'm spending with her, the sun setting and spilling through the windows like molten gold, pooling at our feet. The firelight catches the edges of her hair, turning it to copper, and I wonder if this is what the gods felt when they looked at something they couldn't keep.
I never thought there'd be a sunset I wouldn't want to watch, but right now, I can't take my eyes off her. The light shifts, painting her in colors too beautiful to be real, and I realize the sun could fall from the sky entirely, and I wouldn't notice.
Ava sighs and tilts her head to glance at me. "What kind of question is that?" Her voice is soft, the edges of her words brushing against the quiet like a whisper meant only for me. She looks at me like I've pulled her from some far-off thought, her brow arching in that way she does when she's half-amused, half-annoyed.
I shrug, trying to play it off. "A normal one," I say, though I know it's not. Nothing about this moment feels normal. "Unless you're afraid of answering."
She stretches her legs out, her socked feet brushing against the edge of the rug. "Afraid?" She repeats, as if the word tastes foreign in her mouth. She leans back on her palms, the firelight flickering across her face, turning her into something half-wild, half-mythical. "You think I'm afraid of such a question?"
"I don't know." I tilt my head, watching her carefully. She's like the fire itself, always moving, always shifting, and impossible to pin down. "You haven't answered yet."
Her eyes narrow, but there's no real malice behind it. "I haven't answered because it's a ridiculous question."
"Ridiculous how?"
"Ridiculous as in, what does it matter? What anyone wants to be when they grow up. Life doesn't work like that." She shrugs, like she's brushing off the weight of the universe. Like it doesn't matter that she's just unraveled something bigger than either of us. But it does matter. It matters to me.
"Tell me. What did little Ava dream about? Astronaut? Famous artist? Circus performer?"
She laughs at that, and the sound is brighter than the fire, sharper than the cold outside the window. "Little Ava didn't dream about any of that," She says, shaking her head. "She didn't have time for dreams." There's something in her voice, an ache she doesn't bother to hide. It settles between us, heavy and fragile, like glass balanced on the edge of a table. I want to catch it before it falls, but I don't know how.
"So, no dreams?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light, though my chest feels tight. "Not even one?"
She hesitates, and for a moment, I think she won't answer. But then she turns to me, her expression softer now, her eyes searching mine like she's trying to decide if I'm safe. If I'm worth trusting. "I dreamed of being alive." She says finally, and the words are so quiet I almost miss them.
For a moment, the world stops spinning. Her words are so soft, so unassuming, yet they land with the weight of an avalanche. I don't know what to say. All I can do is reach out, my fingers brushing against hers where they rest on the floor. It's the smallest of touches, but it feels like the most important thing I've ever done.
"Alive," I echo. My chest feels like it's been hollowed out, a sharp ache settling where my heart used to be. "You dreamed of being alive."
Ava shrugs, her gaze dropping to her lap. She's trying to seem nonchalant, but I see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands curl into fists against her thighs. "I told you it was a stupid question," She mutters.
