Chapter 159 The Greenhouse Reunion

Chapter 159 The Greenhouse Reunion

Cressida's pov

The greenhouse was warm and the glass was fogged and the air was thick with the smell of soil and green things and life.

I had not been here in weeks and the plants were thriving and the flowers were blooming and the world was quiet. The frost was still there and the cold was still there and the fear was still there. But the peace was there too. The peace of the greenhouse and the peace of the plants and the peace of being alone. The glass walls were streaked with condensation and the light filtered through in soft golden beams and the shadows were long and gentle.

I knelt beside a bed of herbs and my fingers brushed the leaves and the scent was familiar and the touch was grounding. The lavender and the rosemary and the thyme. The plants that reminded me of home and the plants that reminded me of her. My mother. The one who had taught me to garden and the one who had taught me to survive and the one who had taught me to love. The soil was dark and rich beneath my fingers and the warmth of the greenhouse seeped into my cold skin.

I had been coming here more often and the plants were the only things that did not judge me and the only things that did not expect anything from me and the only things that just let me be. The frost was still there and the cold was still there and the fear was still there. But the plants did not care. They just grew and they just bloomed and they just lived.

The door opened and footsteps echoed on the stone.

I did not look up. I did not want to. I wanted to be alone and I wanted to be quiet and I wanted to forget. The footsteps were familiar and the presence was familiar and the weight of who it was settled on my shoulders.

"Cressida."

The voice was familiar and the voice was warm and the voice was unexpected.

I looked up and Niko was standing in the doorway.

His silver blond hair was longer and his eyes were tired and his face was pale. He was wearing a simple shirt and his hands were in his pockets and his presence was steady. He looked like he had not slept in days and the shadows under his eyes were deep and the lines on his face were etched with worry.

"Niko."

"Niko."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came back."

"I can see that."

"I came back for you."

I stood and my hands were shaking and my voice was steady. The frost on my skin began to spread and the cold in my chest began to deepen.

"For me?"

"For you."

He crossed the room and stopped in front of me and his eyes were steady and his voice was low. The space between us was small and the tension was thick and the air was heavy.

"I heard about everything. The witches. The war. The frost."

"Of course you did."

"I wanted to help."

"I do not need help."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I do not."

"Yes, you do."

I looked at him and his eyes were steady and his voice was soft. The anger was rising and the hurt was surfacing and the pain was breaking through the numbness.

"I am not going to leave you again," he said.

"You already left."

"I know."

"You left and you did not say goodbye."

"I know."

"You left and you did not look back."

"I know."

I stepped closer and my voice was sharp. The frost was spreading and the cold was deepening and the fear was growing.

"Why did you come back?"

"Because I could not stay away."

"That is not an answer."

"It is the only answer I have."

I stared at him and the frost was still there and the cold was still there and the fear was still there. But the anger was there too. The anger that had been building and the hurt that had been growing and the pain that had been festering. The memories of him leaving and the silence that followed and the emptiness that remained.

"You left me," I said.

"I know."

"You left me when I needed you."

"I know."

"You left me when I was scared."

"I know."

He stepped closer and his voice was low. The space between us was gone and his presence was heavy and his words were raw.

"I am sorry."

"Sorry is not enough."

"I know."

"Sorry does not fix anything."

"I know."

"Sorry does not bring back the time we lost."

"I know."

He reached for my hand and his fingers were warm and his grip was firm. The touch was familiar and the warmth was grounding and the tension in my chest eased just a fraction.

"I am here now," he said. "That is all I can offer."

I looked at him and the frost was still there and the cold was still there and the fear was still there. But the warmth was there too. The warmth of his presence and the warmth of his friendship and the warmth of being together. The anger was still there and the hurt was still there and the pain was still there. But the forgiveness was there too. Small and fragile and tentative.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?"

"For coming back."

We knelt in the garden and our hands were in the soil and the plants were thriving and the world was quiet.

Niko talked and I listened and his voice was steady. He told me about his journey and his father and the truth that had been hidden. He told me about the guilt and the regret and the longing. He told me about the moment he decided to come back. The soil was warm beneath our fingers and the scent of lavender was thick in the air and the light was soft and golden.

"I was walking through the forest," he said. "And I felt something pull me back. Something that would not let me go."

"Something?"

"Someone."

I looked at him and his eyes were steady and his voice was soft. The frost on my skin was receding and the cold in my chest was easing and the fear in my heart was fading.

"I knew I had to come back," he said. "I knew I had to see you."

"Why?"

"Because you are my friend. Because I care about you. Because I could not live with myself if I did not try."

I was quiet for a moment and my voice was small.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?"

"For trying."

The afternoon passed and the light shifted and the shadows grew long.

We worked in silence and the plants were thriving and the world was quiet. The frost was still there and the cold was still there and the fear was still there. But the peace was there too. The peace of the garden and the peace of the friendship and the peace of being together. The soil was dark and rich and the plants were green and alive and the world was still.

Niko stood and brushed the soil from his hands and his voice was steady.

"I should go."

"Already?"

"It is getting late."

"It is early."

"It is late."

"Same thing."

He almost smiled and the expression was tired but real.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For letting me stay."

I stood and my hands were shaking and my voice was steady.

"Thank you for coming back."

He reached for my hand and his fingers were warm and his grip was firm.

"I will always come back," he said.

I watched him walk away and the door closed behind him and the greenhouse was quiet.

The frost was still there and the cold was still there and the fear was still there.

But the hope was there too.

Small and fragile and tentative.

But there.