"Why are you putting them in different pots?"
I sat cross-legged on the sand, flipping through the notebook Steven had lent me, though "reading" was probably too generous a word for what I was doing. Half the pages were packed with symbols, diagrams, and cramped annotations that looked less like explanations and more like someone arguing with paper.
"I want them to have different colouring," he answered without looking up.
He crouched beside the row of pots we had arranged beneath the seaside tree, sleeves rolled to his elbows while he worked soil between his fingers. The wind kept pushing strands of black hair across his face, but he ignored it entirely.
"Hm."
I glanced from the notebook to the small pile of things beside him.
"Do you actually know how to do that?"
A smirk slipped onto my face before I could stop it.
"If I didn't," he sighed, "I wouldn't be doing this."
He sprinkled coffee grounds carefully into one of the pots, mixing them into the soil with surprising patience. The smell drifted faintly into the air.
"Why are you adding those?"
My attention had already abandoned the notebook completely.
The scribbles were beginning to give me a headache anyway.
Steven paused for a moment.
"Didn't you grow those blue hydrangeas?"
He pressed the soil down lightly with his palm before exhaling.
"What did you use to get those colours?"
The waves filled the silence while I thought about it. The tide had risen slightly since morning, water reaching closer to the rocks with every slow crash.
"Mom told me to use pine needles," I answered eventually. "And some mixture."
I placed the notebook beside me in the sand.
Then annoyance crept into my chest almost immediately.
"Ah."
The memory surfaced properly this time.
Eggshells.
Pine needles.
Mother adjusting soil acidity while explaining things I hadn't paid enough attention to.
"That explains the eggshells," I muttered quietly.
Steven glanced up briefly before returning to the pots.
"Was your mother really that interested in flowers?" I asked, moving closer.
Sand shifted beneath my sandals as I approached.
"Hm."
He brushed dirt from one hand absently.
"Whenever she was home, we usually worked in her garden together."
His voice softened slightly around the sentence.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for me to notice.
Something about that bothered me a little.
Not the words themselves.
The way they sounded finished.
"Hmm…"
I wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that.
So I didn't.
Somewhere overhead, gulls cried sharply before drifting farther down the shoreline.
"Alright," Steven said eventually, standing and dusting his palms against his trousers.
"So."
He looked directly at me.
"Did you decide on a spell yet?"
I froze completely.
The notebook suddenly felt heavier beside me.
The ocean sounded painfully loud.
"Well," I began carefully, scrambling for dignity, "the book is filled with strange scribbles…"
I grabbed the journal quickly and flipped through random pages as though proving a point.
"And this is clearly a fire mage's spell."
Steven stared at me.
Then sighed.
"You really don't know anything, do you?"
The tone hurt more than the words.
Not cruel.
Just genuinely pitiful.
And somehow that made me want to throw him directly into the sea.
"What do you mean?" I asked sharply, clutching the notebook again.
The rough leather cover felt cool against my palm.
Steven pointed toward the flower pots.
"I'll explain if you help me carry these back home."
A grin spread slowly across his face.
The kind worn by someone entirely too confident they had already won.
"Why would I do that?"
Even I could hear the weakness in my argument.
"Because," he replied, "I can't properly tease you if you know nothing."
He folded his arms loosely.
"Help me and I'll teach you what I know."
You…
I narrowed my eyes at him.
Then at the pots.
Then back at him again.
"Fine."
The word left my mouth with all the grace of surrender.
I hated how amused he looked afterward.
Not long afterward, the pots had been loaded carefully into a small carriage together with sacks of soil and gardening supplies.
"Are six seeds really enough?" I asked while climbing in beside him.
"Yeah."
Steven leaned slightly toward the window as the carriage began moving.
"That should be sufficient."
Then after a short pause—
"Give your mother my thanks."
I nodded quietly.
The city rolled past outside in slow motion, sunlight flashing across windows while people moved through afternoon streets beneath hanging laundry and open storefronts.
For a while neither of us spoke.
Then Steven looked toward one of the passing shops and said quietly,
"It's strange."
"What is?"
"That an outsider can only experience a place from the comfort of privacy."
I frowned immediately.
"What does that even mean?"
He rested one arm against the carriage frame.
"You can keep a piece of somewhere inside your home," he said. "But you can never truly join the outside of it."
Then he turned toward me.
"A little sad, no?"
"I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about."
I shifted in my seat with a sigh.
Steven really did speak like someone who got lost halfway through his own thoughts and expected everyone else to follow him into the fog.
Part of me wondered if he did it on purpose.
The carriage continued down the road.
Then a very obvious realization struck me.
"Wait."
I looked at him.
"The beach wasn't far at all."
"Hm?"
"Why didn't we just walk?"
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of a brick house before he answered.
The place was already surrounded by a beautiful garden stretching around the front and sides, flowers blooming beneath neatly trimmed shrubs.
Steven looked at me.
Then at the coachman unloading the pots.
Then back at me again.
Understanding hit immediately.
"Tsk."
I rolled my eyes.
"Well."
I climbed out of the carriage.
"It's your money."
The neighborhood felt quieter than the seaside roads. Fewer voices. Less wind. Even the smell of salt from the ocean seemed weaker here.
"Is your father not home?" I asked after Steven paid the coachman.
He ignored the question completely.
That felt deliberate.
Instead, he picked up the notebook from beneath his arm.
"Alright," he said. "Let's have a look."
He flipped through the pages while walking toward the garden.
"Cinder Dart."
He stopped at one page and held it open toward me.
"Did you look through this one?"
"I'm not a fire mage," I replied immediately.
Steven stared at me.
"So?"
"So…"
I paused.
Actually paused.
Because the confidence behind my answer suddenly felt suspiciously hollow.
He blinked once.
Then understanding slowly crossed his face.
"Oh."
A smile appeared immediately afterward.
"It would probably help if you attended a proper university."
I narrowed my eyes again.
"Just say you don't know what you're talking about."
I pointed toward the notebook.
"And that doesn't even look like a grimoire. It's just some rough journal."
"What would you know about grimoires?"
He adjusted one of the pots beside the garden wall.
"You may technically be a mage," he added casually, "but honestly I might be more of one than you."
My head suddenly felt light.
My fists tightened before I even realized it.
Steven noticed immediately.
"Apologies," he said quickly.
"I overstepped."
I wanted to stay angry.
Really.
But this was also the closest I had ever gotten to learning actual magic beyond exercises and theory.
And that irritated me too.
So unfortunately—
I stayed.
Later, we found ourselves back near the beach.
The silver sun dipped slowly toward the horizon, staining the sea with pale metallic light while evening crept across the coastline.
Steven sat with his elbows resting loosely against his knees.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
This time the apology sounded genuine.
"My mother once told me a mage should never think themselves incapable of learning."
The wind shifted gently around us.
"Knowledge comes from different places."
He kept his eyes on the sea while speaking.
I didn't answer.
We simply sat there watching the sun drown itself slowly beneath the horizon.
Then Steven reached into his coat and handed me a folded sheet of paper.
"Here."
"What?"
I unfolded it carefully.
It was the spell from earlier.
The one he had mentioned before.
"But I'm not a—"
The words stopped halfway out of my mouth.
I swallowed them instead.
The evening air held still around us for a moment.
Then his voice quietly broke the silence.
"Thank you, Mayumi."
I looked up.
He was already walking away.
At some point he had stood without me noticing.
His figure grew smaller against the darkening shoreline while waves rolled steadily onto the sand between us.
I opened my mouth once.
Then closed it again.
Something about the moment felt fragile.
Like speaking too loudly would ruin it.
And as night slowly settled over the beach, I remained there holding the paper in my hands, unable to give shape to the thoughts gathering quietly inside my chest.