It was one of those soft, humming evenings in Kilima, when the lanterns above the inn swayed gently in the breeze and voices drifted from the tavern like music. Lyra and Hassian had found a quiet bench near the edge of the square, just far enough from the main road to pretend they were alone—though of course, they weren’t. That was simply how it was.

Lyra had been talking—about the stars, or her favorite tree in Bahari, or maybe something Saraya had told her earlier that day. She couldn’t quite remember anymore. What she did remember was the way Hassian had looked at her.

He sat with one arm draped along the back of the bench, relaxed in a way that still surprised her sometimes. His head was slightly tilted, and his eyes hadn’t left her face for some time. A slow, quiet smile tugged at his mouth, warm and full of something that made her heart stumble.

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying,” she accused, half-laughing as she leaned back beside him.

He blinked, then chuckled low in his throat. “No. I guess I’m not. I’m sorry.”

She arched a brow. “Care to share what’s stolen your attention?”

There was a pause—just long enough to tighten the air between them—before he said it, voice low, almost reverent. “I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my life.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Instinctively, her eyes flicked around them. Majiri custom was clear: couples were never truly alone, never permitted more than a touch of the hand until vows were spoken. And yet, she couldn’t stop the smile curving her lips.
“Oh,” she murmured, feigning lightness though her pulse thundered. “You must really like me.”

His expression didn’t waver. “I do.”

Her grin widened, mischief sparking in her eyes. “Well then—what is it you like? Be specific. I’d like to know what I’m doing right.”

He turned toward her a little more, and with deliberate solemnity, began ticking things off on his fingers.
“Your beauty. Your wit. Your charm. Your drive. Your stubbornness.”

Lyra laughed, shaking her head, but Hassian only lifted his other hand and kept going.

“Your laugh. Your kindness. The way you talk about the stars. The way you say my name.”
His voice dipped lower as he leaned closer, eyes fixed on hers. “And the way you smell is intoxicating.”

“Mm.” She tilted her head, savoring it. “That’s a pretty long list. Surely there’s something you don’t like.”

He didn’t hesitate. “That I can’t kiss you right now.”

The words landed heavy, intimate. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, their gazes locked, the whole square seeming to still around them. Both of them, she was certain, imagining the same forbidden what if.

Lyra broke eye contact first, pressing her lips together to hide the smile threatening there. Hassian leaned back against the bench again, exhaling like the confession had cost him nothing at all.

And in that moment, something inside her stilled. She had already known she loved him—but now she felt it in every breath, certain and whole, as if her heart had finally caught up to the truth her soul had been keeping.

Later, as she lay awake replaying his words, her heart whispered the truth: if Hassian was speaking of kisses, then perhaps the time for pins was not far behind.

Help!

The inn hummed with quiet conversation and the gentle clink of mugs, lantern light flickering across the wooden beams. Lyra’s fingers traced the rim of her cup, but her gaze kept drifting to Hassian. There was something different about him tonight, a restless energy that made her pulse quicken, a quiet tension she hadn’t seen before.

Hassian rose from the table, moving with a fluid, almost nervous energy that made her chest tighten. “Got something I need to tend to,” he said softly but with certainty. He reached out, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, grounding her in the moment. “Just stay safe.”

Her smile deepened, warm and steady. “Always.”

With a nod toward Sifuu, he slipped past the tables and out of the inn, leaving the faint scent of him lingering in the air.

When he was gone, Sifuu leaned back with a sigh, twisting her braids up off her neck. “That boy and his quick exits.”

Lyra’s lips curved in a small, wry smile. “I’m glad he didn’t linger tonight,” she murmured, biting her lip. “Sifuu, I know you’ve been working in the hot forge all day, but… I was hoping to ask for your help.”

Sifuu arched a brow, a flicker of curiosity in her gaze. “Oh?”

Lyra leaned closer, lowering her voice, her heart thudding. “I want to make a pin. For him.”

The surprise on Sifuu’s face was fleeting — replaced almost instantly with a slow, fond smile that reached her eyes. “So you’ve chosen him then.”

Lyra’s voice softened, barely more than a breath, but resolute. “Honestly… I did that a long time ago.”

Sifuu reached across the table, her hand warm as it settled over Lyra’s, anchoring the moment. “You’re kind. Grounded. You’ve brought something back into him — a steadiness, a lightness I haven’t seen in a good while.” Her eyes lingered on Lyra’s face, steady and knowing. “If you’re sure about this, I’d be honored to help.”

Lyra’s fingers traced idle circles along the rim of her mug, thoughts swirling like water catching the light. Then she looked up, letting a slow, radiant smile bloom across her face — calm, certain, quietly brave. “I’ve been sure since the moment I met him.”

Together they made their way to the forge. The coals had cooled from Sifuu’s long day of work, but with practiced ease, she coaxed them back to a gentle glow. Lyra unrolled a sheet of paper she had folded carefully in her satchel.

“I had an idea for the design,” she said, holding out her sketch. “For me — the Smiling Kitsu. It was the first constellation I showed him. He was surprised I even knew it.” She smiled to herself, memories brushing against her heart like soft starlight. “And for him — the bow and arrows. He’s a hunter, through and through.”

Sifuu studied the page, nodding slowly, her expression patient and approving. “Simple. Strong. Fitting. The kitsu is clever and loyal. The bow — well, it’s as much a part of him as his name.”

With quiet, careful teamwork, they shaped the pin. Lyra polished the details of the constellation while Sifuu hammered out the bow and arrows with practiced precision. When it was finished, it gleamed with meaning — small, delicate, but impossible to ignore.

As Lyra turned the pin over in her palm, her fingers curled around it protectively, as if she could guard the meaning itself.
“I don’t know when I should give it to him,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I already gave him the lily… so maybe I should wait. I don’t want to rush him.”

Sifuu’s smile was warm, almost conspiratorial. “Do what feels true to you. But knowing Hassian…” — her eyes softened, thoughtful — “I’d be surprised if he lets you wait long.”

Lyra nodded slowly, her heart a quiet drum in her chest. She looked down at the pin again, at the bow and the shining kitsu. Her symbol. His. Theirs. And she tucked it gently away, reverently, as if holding a secret promise.

After Lyra had made her exit, Sifuu laughed softly to herself. “You’re in it now, boy,” she said, recalling Hassian making a nearly identical pin for Lyra earlier that day, a private smile lingering in her eyes.

Midnight Nerves - Lyra

Lyra sat alone in her room, a single light casting shadows across her bedside table. In her hands, nestled in soft cloth, lay the pin she’d made — stars and bow side by side, silver gleaming softly in the low light.

She should’ve felt pride. Relief. Joy.
Instead, she felt panic.

This was what she wanted. What she’d hoped for, dreamt about since the first time he’d looked at her like she was something more than just another human. And yet, as she turned the pin over in her hands, her chest tightened.
What if she wasn’t enough for him?

Hassian was brave. Steady. Respected. A natural leader. His quiet strength drew others in, grounding everything around him. And her? She could be impulsive. Stubborn. Awkward at times. Jealous, even — something she hated in herself but couldn’t always keep in check, especially when other women lingered too long around him, their eyes too interested, their laughs too easy. Honestly, he wasn’t that funny.

She knew it was ridiculous. He’d chosen her, hadn’t he? He’d accepted the lily. He’d looked at her like she was everything.

But now it was real. And reality was terrifying.

She stood, pacing, her bare feet soft against the rug. What if giving him this pin changed things? What if it made him feel pressured? What if he accepted it out of obligation, not because he truly wanted to?

And then, like dawn breaking slowly over her thoughts—
She loved him.

The realization hit like a heartbeat skipping. Not a maybe. Not a possibility. A truth she hadn’t allowed herself to speak—not even in her mind—until this moment.

She loved him.

And because she did, she wanted whatever was best for him.
Even if… that best wasn’t her.

Midnight Nerves – Hassian

Hassian worked in quiet, steady movements. The pin was already complete — but he still sat by the fire, polishing it by hand in the soft firelight
He ran his thumb over the design. A slender arc of stars. A bow and arrow curved beneath, not crossing, but standing beside—distinct, yet connected.

Lyra

She was always in his thoughts lately—like a second heartbeat. And that scared the hell out of him.
But then the memory came back, sharp and clear: the prayer he had whispered under the stars just hours before meeting her. Asking for someone to love, someone to love him, someone who would stay, someone who would choose him as he would choose them.

And now, sitting here with the pin in his hands, he realized with a quiet, astonishing certainty: she was the answer.

This pin was more than tradition. More than symbols or ritual. It was a promise. That he was ready to step into something lasting. Vulnerable. Real. And that terrified him too. But she… she made it hard to hold onto fear.

It wasn’t just her beauty, though stars knew she had that in spades. It was everything else. Her wit. Her quiet cheer. That unshakable streak of optimism. The way she looked at the world like it hadn’t burned her yet—or like she’d forgiven it if it had.

And there was a charm about her, something she didn’t even seem to notice she had. It slipped past his walls before he could stop it.

She’d given him the lily. No hesitation. No demands. Just a simple, sacred truth: I choose you.

And now, it was his turn.
He looked down at the pin in his hand—small, but solid. It wasn’t just an answer. It was a surrender. To what he felt. To the life that had been forming quietly around them, wordless but steady.

The old fear still whispered. She might leave.

But the louder truth, the one planted now beneath his ribs, said something else: she might stay.

For the first time in years, his heart wasn’t warning him—it was guiding him.
He loved her, and every instinct told him she was right. It would be right this time.

He closed the pin’s case gently, almost reverently.

He would give this to her soon. Not because he was expected to. But because she deserved all of it—his honesty, his steadiness, his heart.

And because when they part ways and he calls after her just stay safe, it isn’t a wish.
It’s a prayer—and this time, it carries a certainty he had never known before.