BY THE RIVER

Prelude. Part 1.

“Are you sure this is enough food?” Erina asked, staring back and forth between the food in her picnic basket and her husband.

“Yes, baby, it’s more than enough,” he smiled at his wife while kissing her hand.

“Come, we must hurry; Mark and Lyra must be waiting.” Roland said as he ushered his wife into their car.

The Vales and Rowans had a tradition. Every year on Lyra and Erina’s birthday, they would have a picnic to celebrate, and this year was no different.

The Rowans headed to Greenhaven’s meadow. It was sun-dappled, where soft grass cushions your feet and a gentle breeze rustles through the tall, green trees surrounding the area. The air is fragrant with the scent of wildflowers, bursts of purple, yellow, and pink scattered like confetti across the field, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear the soft babble of a river, glimmering under the sun, but far enough that it doesn’t disturb your peaceful spot.

There were whispers in the town about the river being magical. Awelyn is what they called it. Some said it held powers far greater than would be expected for such a river; others simply called it a myth.

The Rowans arrived to find the Vales at the meadow, all set and ready for the picnic.

“We are so sorry we’re late.” Erina lowered her head in embarrassment.

“Aren’t you late every year?” Lyra chuckled, embracing her friend.

The men exchanged their pleasantries as well, and the two families sat down for the picnic. Erina placed her basket down and brought out all the food she had packed. The couples chatted, laughed and caught up with each other. The two families were both wealthy, and their various businesses were thriving. As the sun set on their lovely picnic, Erina cleared her throat, indicating she had something to say.

“Oh Erina, do go on,” Lyra encouraged.

“I am pregnant.” The words shyly came out.

The Vales were ecstatic about the news and congratulated the lucky couple. The picnic came to an end as the birthday girls cut their cake and made their wishes

9 months later, the Rowans gave birth to a baby boy who they named Lucien. Two years later the Vales had a beautiful baby girl who they named Myra. The family tradition continued, and each year they went to the meadow with their parents. With each passing year the children grew fonder of each other. It’s been eight years, and the meadow has been a significant part of their lives.

The next year’s picnic had arrived, and the meadow was as sun-drenched and fragrant as always. Lucien, now eight, darted across the soft grass, his laughter ringing like bells through the trees. Myra, six, chased after him, careful not to trip over the tufts of wildflowers that clung to her little shoes.

“Can we go play by the river, Mum?” Lucien called, looking over his shoulder.

Lyra chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Just don’t wander too far, Lucien. Myra, you too, alright?”

“Promise!” Myra said, grabbing his hand.

The mothers exchanged smiles, and with a nod from their fathers, the two children bounded off toward the river, only a short walk from the meadow, hidden among the trees. The sunlight glinted through the branches, creating little spots of gold on the forest floor.

When they reached the water, they paused. The river sparkled, catching the light in a way that made the ripples look like tiny stars scattered across its surface. Lucien’s eyes widened.

“Look at that, Myra! It’s like it’s… glowing!”

Myra crouched at the edge, letting her fingers skim the surface. “It’s… pretty,” she whispered. Something about the way the sunlight danced on the water made her feel like the river was watching them, listening. She shivered in delight.

Lucien crouched beside her, his face bright with excitement. “Come on! Let’s go swimming!”

“No! It’s too cold,” Myra protested, tugging her hands back.

“Aw, don’t be a scaredy-cat! It’ll be fun!” Lucien teased, dipping a toe in to test the water.

“No way! I’m not getting wet,” Myra said, crossing her arms.

They bickered back and forth for a few minutes, laughing, trying to convince the other, until suddenly, the familiar calls from their mothers echoed through the trees.

“Lucien! Myra! Time to come back!”

“Alright, alright!” Lucien called, grabbing Myra’s hand.

As they walked back toward the meadow, the river’s light glinting behind them, both children felt a strange little thrill in their chests, something magical, fleeting, like the river had winked at them and kept its secret.

The night was quiet, the last light of day fading into soft darkness. Lucien lay under his blankets, staring at the ceiling.

“Mom,” he whispered, “can you tell me more about the river? The one we went to today?”

Erina smiled, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Awelyn?” she said softly. “Do you want a story?”

“Yes,” Lucien said, eyes wide in the dim light.

Meanwhile, across town, Myra sat cross-legged on her bed, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “Mom,” she asked, voice small and curious, “why is the river special? Does it really… do what you said?”

Lyra leaned against the foot of the bed, brushing a strand of hair from Myra’s face. “Ah, the river,” she whispered. “It’s not just water, you know. People say it remembers everything…promises, secrets, moments that matter. It doesn’t speak, but it listens. And it never forgets what it’s been given.”

Back in Lucien’s room, Erina’s eyes shone in the lamplight. “People believe it can strengthen bonds,” she continued. “Lovers come to make promises, friends come to share secrets, families come to honour one another. If your heart is true, the river keeps what you give it safe.”

Lucien pulled the blanket closer, imagining the sparkling water. “So… like magic?”

“Maybe,” Erina said softly. “The river glimmers sometimes, in sunlight or moonlight, to show it has noticed. Some swear it helps people keep their hearts steady, even when life pulls them apart.”

Across town, Myra hugged her knees, eyes reflecting the dim light. “So… if I told it a secret, it would keep it safe?”

Lyra smiled, brushing her fingers along her daughter’s hair. “Yes, my darling. But only if your heart is honest. The river can tell.”

Lucien rolled onto his side, thinking about the glimmering water and the stories his mother told. “Do… do lovers really come here?”

Erina nodded. “They do. On birthdays, anniversaries, important days. They come and make promises, sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly, and the river holds them. That’s why it glimmers…the magic of hearts trusting it.”

In her own room, Myra leaned closer to her mother. “Do you think… it would notice us?”

Lyra chuckled softly. “Perhaps it already has. And perhaps one day, it will help you remember what is most important to you, just like it helped those who came before.”

Both children lay back against their pillows, hearts racing, minds filled with wonder. Outside, the wind rustled the trees, and the distant river glittered faintly in the moonlight, unseen by the children, yet somehow present, listening.

It was a river of secrets. A keeper of promises. And for both of them, it had already begun to hold something very precious.

The years folded into one another gently, like pages worn soft from being reread. Lucien started noticing things he hadn’t before. The way Myra tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. The way she went quiet when she was thinking. Myra noticed things too, like how he always walked on the side closest to the road and how he looked back to make sure she was still there. They started looking forward to each picnic and their time away by the river.

The river was their special place; they talked about their dreams and fears by it. As they grew, so did their conversations. They talked about their desires.

“Do you think it’s weird,” Myra said, skimming a pebble along the dirt with her shoe, “that people make such a big deal about first kisses?”

Lucien shrugged too quickly. “Not really.”

She glanced at him. “Have you had yours?”

He hesitated. Just a beat too long.

“Yeah,” he lied. “Once.”

“Oh.” She nodded, trying to sound casual. “Was it… how people say?”

Lucien kicked at a stone. “It was fine.”

“Just fine?” she pressed.

“I guess.” He didn’t look at her.

Myra frowned, thinking. “I don’t want mine to be rushed. Or stupid. I want it to mean something. Like…like I won’t regret it later.”

Lucien finally turned to her. She was staring out at the river, sunlight in her hair, completely serious.

“I think,” she continued, softer now, “that I want it to be with someone who knows me. Someone who’s patient.”

Lucien swallowed.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That makes sense.”

She smiled, relieved. “Good. Because I’d hate for it to be disappointing.”

Lucien didn’t reply.

He just watched the way the light moved across the water, the way her reflection wavered beside his, and made a promise he didn’t say out loud.

I’ll be your first

That afternoon, a year after that conversation, they were back at the meadow for their mothers’ forty-second birthdays. Lucien, now seventeen, had warm brown eyes that seemed to take everything in and soft brown hair that fell naturally over his forehead. His lean, athletic build was captivating, and teen girls loved to drool over him.

Myra, now fifteen, had a beauty that felt effortless. Her long chestnut hair tumbled in gentle waves, framing a face with high cheekbones and full lips that seemed made for smiles. Her hazel eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and warmth, drawing people in without her saying a word. They drifted toward the river without deciding to. The water was calm, light flickering across its surface. Lucien skipped a stone; it sank after one bounce. Myra watched it disappear.

“It’s colder today,” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied, though he hadn’t touched it.

They stood there, close enough that their shoulders almost met. Almost. The space between them felt loud. Lucien opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. Myra looked up at him, waiting.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

She smiled, small and unsure. Her hand brushed his by accident…or maybe not. Neither of them moved

He became painfully aware of how close her face was, how her eyes searched his like she was bracing for something. He looked at her...really looked…and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them. His heart pounded, loud enough, he thought she might hear it.

Slowly, he leaned in. Myra’s breath hitched, and he froze for a heartbeat, letting her pull back if she wanted. She didn’t.

When their lips met, it was delicate at first, a soft question rather than an answer. The warmth of her lips against his sent a thrill through him…sharp and impossible to ignore.

As the kiss deepened, Lucien’s hand moved naturally to her waist, drawing her closer. Myra’s hands trembled slightly before resting against him, steadying herself in the closeness. The world around them…the river, the rustling leaves, the sunlight…faded into a quiet hush.

It was gentle, careful, and yet electric. Every heartbeat, every breath, felt amplified. Neither of them rushed. Neither of them pulled away.

When they finally parted, their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, hearts racing. Both were smiling, cheeks flushed, caught in the quiet, intimate knowledge that nothing would ever be quite the same. Lucien leaned in again, planting a soft, gentle kiss on her lips, barely more than a brush, but full of everything he already felt. Myra’s eyes widened, a smile tugging at her lips, cheeks warm.

“I… I think I like that,” Myra whispered.

“Yeah,” Lucien said, voice low. “Me too.”

And in that moment, the river behind them seemed to shimmer a little brighter, as if it had been waiting to witness this moment

Then their mothers’ voices cut through the trees, calling them back. Lucien stepped away first, offering his hand. Myra took it without thinking.

They walked back together, the moment still warm between them, unspoken…but very real.`

That night neither of them could sleep. The thought of the other drove them crazy. Myra felt butterflies in her stomach, Was this love? She asked herself. Lucien laid in this bed, and the memory of her soft lips on his made his heart melt. He always cared and loved Myra but this loved felt different and he liked it. The next day, Lucien planned a picnic at the meadow, Myra arrived in a floral blue and white short sundress which complimented her fair skin. As she walked to the picnic spot, Lucien was in awe.

“You look very beautiful” he mumbled as their lips met. She melted into the kiss as his hands searched her body.

“Thank you” she replied cheerfully and flushed. She twirled around in her pretty dress and Lucien gazed upon the sight of the angel before him.

They talked for a while, Myra complained about how her mum was still babying her even though she is fifteen now and Lucien laughed agreeing, she was still a baby.

“You are a still a child Myra”

“I am not” she screamed as she lunged at him. The attack caught him off guard and sent them rolling off the picnic mat. They laughed as they rolled down the meadow. When they finally stopped, he looked at her and kissed her gently, deepening it with every passing second. He broke the kiss after a while and stared at the beauty before him. He moved her hair from her face and before he knew it, the words had escaped his mouth.

“I love you” he didn’t try to stop these words from coming out

“I love you too” Myra planted a soft kiss on his lips.

“Will you be my girlfriend” he asked rolling on top of her.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

The sun set on their picnic and Lucien walked Myra home. Their houses were a couple miles apart.

“I had a lovely time today” Myra leaned in kissing Lucien

“I’m glad you did”.