7 Years Later
"Hey! I got that first!" I stomped my feet as I ran after Rowen around the palace—he'd stolen my bun bun again.
He smiled smugly from behind the dinner table. "If you want it, then come get it."
"Rowy! Give it back!!" I tried running after him, but I bent down, out of breath. Hands on my knees, I panted.
"Gi—give that back!" I said between gasps.
He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Look at you, it's not even been two seconds since you started running around the palace."
I glared. "I'm no fatty! I lost so much weight already!"
He chuckled. "Yeah, you did... in your brain." He popped a piece of bun into his mouth, chewing with a grin.
"How dare you!!" I lunged at him, tackling him to the ground.
"Hey, fatty! Get off me—you're gonna crush me down!" he shouted.
"Spit it! Spit it out now!" I pushed my hand to his mouth, but he bit my finger.
"AHHH!! You bit me!" I cried, tears welling up as I flailed on the floor, feet in the air.
He sighed, looking down at me. "You're mad because I took one of your bun bun?"
"You're a meanie! Rowy is a big meanie!!" I wailed louder.
He gave me the plate. "Here, have it."
Sniffling, I sat up and hugged it to my chest. "My bun bun"
"Now stop crying, fatty," he teased again.
I looked up at him with wet eyes. "I'm not a fatty, you meanie!" I stood up and turned around.
"Hey, where are you going?" he called, following behind me.
"To my garden," I muttered without looking back.
"Can I come with you?" he asked as we stepped outside the castle.
"No!" I spun to face him.
"Why not?"
"You upset the princess. Now she's mad at you. You're hereby banned from the garden of flowers."
"What? You can't throw me out! I'm the royal gardener."
I huffed. "Maybe. But I can let you in only on one condition."
"And what's that?"
"If you get me a bowl of chocolate ice cream, I might reconsider."
He groaned. "You know we're not allowed to eat ice cream anymore since you finished an entire bucket that night."
My face flushed. "That was because I was thirsty, okay? Just shut up and get my ice cream."
He smirked. "Well, sorry, princess, but I can't—"
"Then you're hereby thrown out of the garden of—"
"Fine, fine! I'll get your ice cream." He rolled his eyes and walked back inside.
I giggled and ran to my garden.
Later that day, I sat under the tree in my garden, eating ice cream while Rowen fanned me lazily.
"You're so slow!" I glared.
"I've been doing this for an hour. I'm tired!" he sulked.
I leaned on my chair. "That's what you get for being a meanie to the princess." I scooped more ice cream into my mouth with a smile.
"You eat like a fatty," he teased.
"You're still calling me a fatty? Huh!"
He chuckled. "I'm sorry, Princess."
"Hmph!" I stuffed more ice cream into my mouth.
He frowned. "Don't do that, stupid girl." He stood up and rushed to bring water.
"So cold!" I puffed, cheeks full.
He returned with a glass of water. "Open up." I gulped the water down as the ice cream melted in my throat.
"You're so stubborn." He wiped my mouth with a soft towel.
"And also such a baby." He pinched my cheeks.
"Hey!"
"Shhh. You shout too much." He smiled and sat beside me.
I turned to face him. "How dare you talk to me that way!" I pushed him to the floor.
"Not again!"
******
The palace was quiet, its grand halls hushed in velvet silence. The golden sconces in my room glowed softly, casting warm shadows on the walls. Rain tapped gently at the tall windows as if the night itself were listening.
I sat cross-legged on the floor in my pajamas, braid hanging over one shoulder. Rowen sat beside me in one of the oversized hoodies I'd given him after he tore his last winter coat.
Between us sat a small wooden box, carved with swirling patterns—our memory box. We came up with it this, one lazy afternoon after sneaking too many chocolate ice creams.
"So," I said, holding a tiny toy cat. "This goes in for the time you tried to 'rescue' that stray kitten and ended up getting chased by a goose instead." I laughed
Rowen groaned. "That goose had murder in its eyes."
I laughed and dropped the cat into the box. "Exactly why it deserves a spot."
We had already filled it with little things—a pressed flower, a dried juice box straw, a keychain from our first school fair.
Then, I held up two folded sheets of paper. "Letters," I said. "For our future selves."
Rowen stared at his blank paper. "Right."
"No reading until we're, like, twenty-five," I declared. "Maybe twenty-four if we're impatient."
We wrote in silence. Only the gentle scratch of pens and the occasional sniffle as I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my shirt.
I finished first and slid my letter into the box.
Rowen stared at his paper a moment longer, then scribbled a final line, folded it tight, and held it in his palm.
"Done," he said.
"Let me see yours!" I reached.
He leaned away, clutching it to his chest. "Nope."
"Oh, come on," I pouted. "Just one line?"
"Nope. It's private."
I squinted. "Is it about me?"
He didn't answer, ears turning pink.
"Rowy!" I narrowed my eyes. "You totally wrote something dramatic, didn't you? Like Dear future Rowen, tell Evelynne she was a very dramatic princess who once hit me with a stick and made me follow her everywhere—"
"Goodnight, Princess," he cut in, quickly stuffing the letter into the box and slamming the lid shut.
I laughed. "I knew it!"
"You'll forget by morning," he mumbled, flopping onto the bed and throwing his arm over his eyes.
I looked at the box between us, my smile fading to something softer.
"I won't," I whispered. "Not about you."
Rowen peeked at me through his arm. And for a second, the quiet held something warmer, something fragile.
Neither of us said anything else.
Just two hearts, side by side, holding a future neither of us was ready to name yet.