They walked under an arched trellis woven with bougainvillea, the air sticky with nectar and sweet earth. Adrian, walking slightly behind Mira, was flanked discreetly by his assistant—a man with sharp eyes and calm steps, who occasionally, and addressed him as “Master.”
Mira didn’t seem to notice. Or, perhaps she did and chose to ignore it the same way she ignored his refusal to be her friend the first time they met.
She stopped in front of a tree whose trunk split into five twisted limbs, the sign beneath it too faded to read. “Look,” she said, brushing her hand along the moss. “I bet this one is older than all of us.”
Adrian crouched beside a pond lined with cycads and wild orchids, observing a frog that blinked slowly, camouflaged in the shade. “This is a good ecosystem. Balanced.”
“Can you talk normal for once?” she said, crouching beside him. “Like—‘wow, a frog!’ or ‘hey, look at its eyes!’”
He didn’t reply immediately. Then, without looking at her: “You missed another one. Behind the rock.”
She turned, delighted. “You’re getting better at this.”
They spent the afternoon that way—Mira running ahead, discovering, dragging him into pockets of greenery, whispering secrets to the wind as if the flowers were listening. Adrian listened too, though he said little. His assistant stayed a polite distance behind, intervening only once when Mira tried to climb into a bird blind that had clearly been closed off.
Eventually, they found a wooden bench shaded by palms. Mira flopped down and leaned back, legs swinging. “So,” she said, pointing toward a plaque describing native salt-tolerant succulents, “are you going to add plant studies to your list?”
“I already did,” he said simply.
“Hey,” Mira said, her voice softer now. “Are you gonna leave soon?”
He didn’t answer.
“You’re not from here, right?”
“I mean,” she added, turning toward him, “you talk like you’ve read everything. You’re calm all the time, even when people look confused. Except with me, of course.”
He glanced at her. “You don’t stop talking.”
She grinned. “Maybe you just don’t stop thinking.”
A pause. She looked down, finger tracing a circle in the soft green moss at her feet.
“But… if you’re that smart, and you’ve got big plans or something… why come to a small place like this?”
He tilted his head toward the canopy. “I came with someone. They have work here.”
“But you didn’t have to come.”
“No. I asked to.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. “Because there are questions. And something here… might lead to the answers.”
“That’s vague and suspicious.”
“I know.”
She let out a puff of air, then stood again and picked up a small stone, smooth and flat. She turned it in her palm.
“So where’s your home?”
“Big. Cold. Guarded.”
“That’s not a place. That’s a riddle.”
“It’s accurate.”
“It’s lonely.”
He stared at her for a moment, then finally said, “You really talk too much.”
She smiled. “And you really don’t talk enough. That’s why we balance.”
And for a moment, under the towering trees and the filtered morning light, there was no mystery to solve, no mission, no disguises—just a girl grinning like she belonged in every room, and a boy who didn’t yet realize he’d already started to stay.
A small of movement above them made Mira look up— “There! A squirrel!”
It was a tawny little creature, lean with curiosity and cautious paws, perched on a root halfway down the trunk of the ironwood. Mira crept forward in exaggerated slow motion, eyes wide with delight.
“It’s coming closer!” she whispered, her voice accidentally louder than a whisper should be.
“If you want it to stay closer, maybe don’t sound like a fire alarm.”
“Oh. Right. Shhhh,” she said immediately, pressing both hands over her mouth, eyes still glued to the squirrel. “Shhhh. You’re right. I forgot.”
The squirrel tilted its head, as if assessing her energy, then twitched its tail and edged forward, sniffing the air. Mira crouched, trying to look harmless, then turned slightly and whispered out the side of her mouth, “Do you have any food left? Mine’s all gone. I gave the last candy to the guard earlier…”
Adrian, without sighing—but just barely—unshouldered his bag. From the side pocket, he pulled out a small crinkled pouch: translucent fruit candies, wrapped in soft wax paper, the same kind they’d had at breakfast.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
He didn’t eat sweet things. He didn’t even like the stickiness on his fingers, or the artificial tang. Why had he taken these?
Without a word, he handed her one.
Mira took it with reverence, unwrapped it carefully, broke it in half with her teeth, and placed the smaller piece gently on the ground, sliding it forward with her fingertip. “Here you go, little buddy. This is special candy. From a friend. You better appreciate it.”
“You’re giving sugar to a wild animal.”
“We made a friend. Another one.”
“You bribed a squirrel.”
“Exactly,” she said proudly. “Diplomacy.”
He shook his head. But his lips curved, just barely, like something warmer than amusement.
And the garden, in all its vast, layered green, felt just a little more alive.
*
Mira skipped just ahead, arms swinging, her canvas bag bouncing at her side. She stopped abruptly beside a strange, wiry plant with long thread-like stalks and clusters of green-gray fuzz.
“Look at this one,” she gasped. “That’s Lady Dishevelled. She clearly overslept.”
Behind her, Adrian crouched to examine the same plant. “Tillandsia usneoides. Spanish moss. It’s not actually a moss.”
Mira leaned toward it again, frowning in concentration. “No way she’s Spanish. Look at her—she hasn’t brushed her hair in years.”
Adrian looked flatly at her. “She doesn’t have hair.”
“She does in my kingdom.”
A few steps later, she found a squat bush with small white flowers that opened in the sun and curled shyly as they passed. “Aww, this one’s Blushie Bloom,” she whispered. “She closes her eyes when you compliment her.”
“Turnera subulata,” Adrian replied, almost without looking up.
“Sounds like a secret agent.”
“It’s a sun-activated bloom cycle, not a personality.”
Mira scribbled both names down in her notebook. She labeled hers with stars and curlicues, his with tiny print in parentheses. “When we publish the visitor guide,” she said confidently, “we’ll include both names. Yours for science, mine for storytelling.”
He arched a brow, glancing at her open page. “Is this going to be peer-reviewed?”
“It’s going to be people-reviewed. By actual kids. Much harder to please.”
*
It happened just after they passed under a wide-leaved Indian almond tree, where the shade formed a small natural dome and the roots sprawled like a map beneath their feet. Mira had been hopping between the roots, arms stretched like a tightrope walker, narrating the journey of Princess Moss and her Royal Expedition to the Forgotten Grove, when she suddenly paused mid-monologue, narrowed her eyes at the clearing ahead, then spun around.
“Let’s play hide and seek.”
Adrian blinked. “Why.”
“Because,” she grinned, already bouncing on her toes, “it’s a universal game of strategy and stealth. You love logic. I love running. This is perfect.”
He gave her a long, unreadable look. “That’s not how strategy works.”
She ignored him entirely, beginning to count and ran: “One! Two! Three!"
“I don’t even—what?”
“Four! Five!”
The moment Mira vanished behind a cluster of bottlebrush shrubs and counted "Ten!" with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Adrian didn’t bother sprinting. He strolled. The botanical garden was enormous, yes, but Mira had the subtlety of a marching band. Birds startled overhead, somewhere a stick cracked under her foot, and in the distance, he could hear her whispering to herself—something about disguises and a "cloaking fungus."
It took him approximately 94 seconds.
She had wedged herself behind a spindly banana tree and a broad wall of ginger plants, crouched down with her arms wrapped around her knees, humming to keep herself brave. From where he stood, he could see both her sneakers—completely visible beneath the leaves—and one tuft of silver hair sticking out from the top like a little flag saying “I’m here!”
He stepped closer, stood just a few feet behind her, and said flatly, “I see you.”
She shrieked, spinning around with mock betrayal. “How did you find me?! I was invisible!”
“You left a glitter trail. It’s your hair.”
Mira threw a leaf at him. “I bet you can’t hide better than that.”
“I could hide in plain sight and you’d still trip over your own shoe.”
“Oh yeah?” she huffed, straightening. “Then go! You get one minute. No traps.”
“I don’t do traps.”
She turned dramatically and covered her eyes, beginning her countdown with operatic flair. “ONE! TWO! THREE! You better not sneak off to the gift shop!”
Adrian shook his head and walked calmly toward a dense corner where a weeping fig tree’s aerial roots created a dangling curtain. He sat on the edge, knees drawn up, and let the vines fall naturally back in place.
He could still hear her voice.
“Five! Six! I’m fast, just so you know! Seven! I’ve read three books on wilderness tracking!”
By the time she reached “Ten!” and barreled into motion, her determination nearly overbalanced her. Mira began her search with the deductive focus of a squirrel on a sugar high—zigzagging through hibiscus bushes, checking under every fern too small to hide anyone, announcing her every movement in full volume.
“I can smell genius in the air! That’s right, you can’t hide your IQ, Aiden!”
Ten minutes later, she stood just beyond the curtain of the fig tree, hands on her hips, squinting into the green wall.
And then—
A butterfly flew past. A luna moth, pale as moon-milk, moving with the regal grace of a moon queen stepping out of a fairy tale.
She gasped, turned to follow it, lost balance on a root, and tumbled forward—right through the vines—falling face-first into Adrian’s hiding spot.
A surprised yelp. A flash of silver hair. A candy wrapper fluttering out of her pocket.
"Found you!" She screamed in excitement.
Adrian barely moved. “Found me?”
Mira spat out a leaf and burst out laughing. “Technically, yes.”
“Technically, you fell.”
She flopped onto the ground beside him, brushing her knees. “And yet—you were found. So. One point for Mira.”
“You’re the worst spy I’ve ever met.”
“I’m a princess, not a spy,” she said, sticking her tongue out.
She elbowed him lightly. “Admit it. That was fun.”
Adrian gave her a long look. And then, very quietly, “Maybe.”
She beamed, triumphant. “Knew it.”
*
The day had been long; five minutes after they returned from the botanical garden, she had already fallen asleep in his room, out like a light.
Adrian turned slowly, glancing toward the bed. Mira hadn’t moved much—still curled in the soft sprawl of someone who had wrung every drop from her day. The sleeves of his shirt hung off her like fluttering wings, one knee drawn up beneath the blanket, hair half across her cheek.
He sat on the edge of the bed, meaning only to breathe, to stretch, maybe lean back just for a second. His body settled almost on instinct. His head found the pillow beside hers. And before he could stop it—before any careful boy logic could protest—his eyes closed.
The day had taken them both. Loud and strange and full of unexpected sun, slipping in mud, finding squirrels, mosquito chaos and barefoot truths. And for all the plans and defenses he had guarded himself with, none could hold up against the soft, heavy stillness that pressed down on his limbs now.
Two small shapes, tangled in the same summer fatigue.
Side by side, they slept.
One still in laughter, one still mid-plan.
But at the end of it all, they were just tired kids.