Lira's early days in Arka's hut were a tangled mix of pain, confusion, and wonder. Each morning, she woke up to the dull ache in her body, especially in her torn wings. Those wings—once her pride and her pillars in the sky—now hung limp and fragile on her back, a burden instead of a blessing. Arka tended to her wounds with great care. He applied a greenish salve made of crushed leaves, though he wasn't sure it would work on a fairy's wings. Still, his gentle touch and unwavering patience never escaped Lira's notice.
"How are you feeling today?" Arka asked one morning, placing a bowl of warm corn porridge beside her. The sweet aroma of boiled corn filled the small room.
Lira tried to move her wings slightly, only to wince in pain. She sighed. "Still... hurting." Her eyes landed on her wings, heavy with sorrow. "My wings... do you think I'll ever fly again, Arka?"
Arka sat on the mat near her bed, gazing at the young girl who had become his unexpected guest. He knew nothing of fairies or magical wings. To him, Lira was simply a gravely injured girl. "I don't know, Lira. But we'll do everything we can. Maybe... maybe it just takes time."
Lira looked at his face. There was honesty in it—a kind of raw, unpolished sincerity she had never seen in the heavenly realm. In Kayangan, everyone was graceful and powerful, yet often hidden behind masks of pride. Arka was different. He was plainspoken, unpretentious, real.
"I... I don't know the name of this potion," Lira said, glancing at the salve he used on her wings.
Arka gave a faint smile. "Just pounded betel leaves. My grandmother used to say it's good for wounds." He watched her expression closely. This girl... there was something unmistakably otherworldly about her—her skin too pale, her eyes too blue, and of course, those wings. Yet he chose not to ask too much. She seemed so fragile.
For weeks, Lira remained bedridden. Arka took care of her patiently, bringing her food, changing her bandages, and telling her stories about life on Earth. He spoke of his garden, of the weather, of birds that landed on his windowsill. Lira listened intently. Each tale was a window into a strange new world. She learned about the seasons, about rain that made plants grow, about how the sun could warm the soil—things she had never really noticed in the heavenly realm.
One day, while Arka was tending the garden, Lira tried to stand. Her legs trembled as they met the ground, but she managed to rise. The pain in her wings remained, but it wasn't as sharp. She walked slowly toward the window and looked out at Arka, bent over a row of tomatoes. His movements were so natural, so in tune with the earth.
When Arka came inside and saw her standing, he gasped. "You're standing!" he exclaimed, relief in his voice.
Lira gave a small smile. "Yes. I feel better. Thank you, Arka." She gazed out the window. "You do so much work."
Arka scratched his head. "Well, yeah. This garden is my life."
From that day on, Lira no longer stayed idle. Though her wings were far from healed, she began helping Arka. At first, it was just small tasks—sorting seeds, cleaning freshly harvested vegetables. Arka taught her the names of the plants, how to care for them, and the best times to plant. Lira, quick-witted as she was, soaked in the knowledge like a sponge.
What astonished Arka most was Lira's touch. Whenever she handled a seedling or pressed her fingers into the soil, the plants seemed to respond. Wilted tomatoes revived, flowers bloomed faster, and pests mysteriously stayed away. Arka often stared in disbelief at how his garden had grown more fertile since Lira's arrival.
"Lira, you've got a golden touch," Arka joked one afternoon as they admired a massive pumpkin.
Lira just blushed. She never mentioned that in Kayangan, fairies had a natural bond with nature—a gift to channel life energy. It was a basic ability among her kind, but here on Earth, Arka saw it as a miracle.
Time passed quickly. Weeks turned into months. Lira grew more accustomed to life on Earth. She learned how to cook—though she often burned the food at first. She learned to wash clothes in the river, even if her hands turned numb from the cold. She even picked up Arka's way of joking, mimicking his earthy, rustic tone.
Sometimes, she missed Kayangan—the luxury, the freedom of flying. But each time she saw Arka's smile, felt the warmth of the fire they built at night, or listened to his dreams of expanding the garden, her longing softened. Life on Earth was hard, full of limits, but it held a kind of warmth she had never known before.
One night, under a bright full moon that bathed their garden in silver light, Arka and Lira sat on the porch of the hut, gazing at the stars. It had become a ritual after long days of work—to sit together and share stories.
"Lira," Arka broke the silence, his voice rough with hesitation.
She turned to him. His face was more serious than usual.
"I... I know this might sound crazy," he began, nervously fiddling with a dry leaf. "We've been together for a while now. I know you're different, Lira. I don't know where you came from, or why you have wings. But... it doesn't matter to me."
Lira's heart pounded. She knew where this was going.
Arka looked up, his eyes locking with hers. "Lira, I... I love you."
The words floated in the air, heavy with meaning. Lira's breath caught. Love. A word that had once felt foreign, yet now rang so familiar. That warmth in her chest whenever Arka smiled, whenever he cared for her, whenever they laughed together—that had to be love.
"Arka..." she whispered, her voice catching. She wanted to say I love you too, wanted to throw her arms around the man before her.
But then, her father's face flashed in her mind—King Eldrin, proud and stern, who had always upheld the laws of their realm. The rule he had repeated to her since childhood echoed in her head: A fairy must never marry a human. Such unions only brought disaster to both worlds.
Lira was a fairy. Born from starlight and eternal dew. Arka was human, born of soil and destined to fade. They were different—too different. How could she love a human? How could she defy her fate and, more than that, break the sacred laws of Kayangan?
Tears welled up in Lira's eyes. She looked at Arka, still waiting, hope burning in his gaze.
"Arka... I..." she bit her lip, trying to hold back a sob. "I can't."
Arka's smile faded. Confusion and hurt flickered across his face. "Why, Lira? Did I do something wrong?"
Lira shook her head, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "No, Arka. You've done nothing wrong. You're the kindest man I've ever known." She gestured toward her wings, now slowly healing but still incomplete. "I'm a fairy, Arka. And I'm forbidden... forbidden to love a human."
Silence fell. Only the crickets and rustling leaves filled the air. Arka looked at Lira, then at the wings that glowed faintly behind her. An invisible chasm had opened between them—not just of status, but of worlds.
Lira didn't know what to do. Her heart cried out to stay with Arka, but her mind was paralyzed by the consequences—ones far greater than heartbreak. Consequences that would shake not only her life but the very order of the heavens.