Page 9 of Carved in Ruin

She closes her eyes for a moment, pulling it around herself and lifting it to her nose, inhaling deeply before settling into it.

“But then,” she continues softly, her voice barely cutting through the silence, “that little boy grew up, and he completely forgot me. Like I never meant anything.” Her eyes drift to mine, searching, and her head tilts slightly. “He sees me at events, and it’s like we were never each other’s favorite person.”

There’s a pause. “Do you happen to know why that little boy did that?”

I reach into my pocket, pulling out a small razor, the one I always carry with me. I twirl it between my thumb and forefinger, keeping my eyes on it, letting the silence stretch before answering. “Maybe that boy went through so much pain, he wanted the man to forget everything and everyone.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and she wipes it away quickly with the back of her hand.

“Then why did the man protect me?” she asks.

I pause, my thumb still tracing the razor’s edge. My mind flashes back to that moment—those bullets, the chaos, and her standing there. “When those bullets were fired… and you were there between them… the man turned into a little boy again.”

She reaches for my hand, squeezing it gently before pulling away. Her eyes fall on the pen and small pieces of paper on the bench. She grabs them with a huge smile on her face.

“Why are those there?” I ask, my brows pulling together, confused.

“You know why,” she says, her voice warm. “I never stopped our tradition. They’re always here.”

Her hand reaches out toward me, palm open, waiting for the razor. But I shake my head, leaning in slightly. “Let me,” I whisper.

I hold the razor carefully, and when I touch her hair—soft, silkier than I remember—my cock stands up. Slowly, deliberately, I chop off a small strand, watching it fall into my hand. She scribbles something on the paper, then ties the hair around the note, making sure it’s secure.

“Your turn,” she says, holding the pen out to me, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before I take it.

I hesitate, but only for a second, then scribble something down—scribble the truth that doesn’t reveal much of what’s brewing underneath.

She reaches for the razor again, and I don’t move, letting her close the small gap between us. Her fingers brush against the back of my neck as she snips off a small piece of my hair. Her scent invades my senses—gardenias mixed with wildflowers. Her lips hover so close to mine that a slight tilt forward would let me taste them. The soft brush of her breasts against my shoulder sends my brain into a frenzy. I push down those desires, they are nothing but a natural reaction of my body to a beautiful woman, at least that’s what I tell myself.

We break the moment, and turn to the fountain to toss the hair tied notes into the water, a stupid tradition we had when we were kids. We believed whatever wish we had written on those notes would become true, but the lord knows nothing I wrote ever did.

Five

The Tradition

Mila, at eight years old, was giddy with excitement. She pulled on Rafael’s sleeve, her small body barely able to keep still.

“Rafael!” she whispered loudly. “My daddy read me a wizard book, an’ it said—”

“Wizard book?” Rafael raised an eyebrow, his twelve-year-old self more mature. “Mila, you’re crazy. Wizards aren’t real.”

She pouted, but her eyes were still full of excitement. “No! It’s not crazy! It said if you make a wish by the fountain, it’ll come true. You just have to do it right! You need to wrap your hair around the wish!”

Rafael squinted, studying her face for a moment, seeing how serious she was. He could tell she really believed it. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “That’s dumb. It’s just a fountain.”

“Please, Rafael? Please? You have to do it with me. I wanna try! Just for fun!”

Rafael grumbled under his breath but could never resist when Mila begged him with that look on her face. “Fine, fine,” he muttered. “But I’m doing this for you. This is just stupid.”

“Thank you! Thank you! I knew you’d do it!”

Once they reached the fountain, they crouched low on the stone edge, their feet dipping into the cool water.

Mila pulled out a small, crinkled piece of paper from her pocket. “I’m gonna write my wish now!”

“Mila, this is dumb. I’m just doing this to get you to shut up.”

She shot him a playful glare.

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