Field Between Us

🌾 CHAPTER 6 – GOLDEN’S POV

By the third morning, my body woke up before I did.

Not fully. Not willingly. But enough to feel the shift in how I lived now.

The light here didn’t burst through windows like city light—filtered through concrete and glass, sharp and demanding. It crept in slow, like it was asking permission before settling on the walls. It didn’t force you awake. It waited.

I lay still, staring at the ceiling, feeling that quiet stretch between sleep and movement. Back home, mornings were things I rushed through—just a blur of coffee and messages before the day really started. Here, there was nothing waiting. And somehow, that made every breath feel more real.

I turned my head to look at my hands resting on the blanket.

They didn’t look like mine anymore. Not completely. The skin wasn’t as smooth, not as untouched. Faint calluses had formed on my palms; small marks from tools and soil dotted my fingers. They weren’t ugly. Just… honest.

I rubbed my thumb against my palm, feeling the difference.

“I used to care about this.”

I murmured to the empty room, staring at my slightly calloused hands, a stark contrast to the pampered life I'd led. Memories flooded my mind. How I'd lounge by the pool, sipping iced tea while my maid applied rich creams to my skin. I'd attend charity galas, my hands adorned with diamond bracelets, never once doing a single chore myself. My hands were for jewelry, not for work. But now, they'd seen their fair share of hard work, the softness worn away by reality's harsh touch.

I flexed my fingers, feeling a pang of nostalgia for the life I'd left behind.

No one answered. Of course not.

When I stepped outside, the air carried a cool edge that wouldn’t last long. It smelled of damp earth and growing things—a scent I’d once found strange, now familiar enough to feel like a greeting. The fields stretched out wide and still, but they didn’t press in on me the way they did when I first arrived.

That scared me a little.

“You’re early.”

His voice came from the fence line—steady, calm, like he’d been part of the morning all along. Yseldous walked toward me, his shirt already dusted with soil, his hands marked with work he’d started before the sun was high. He moved like he was in step with something the rest of us couldn’t hear.

“I woke up,” I said.

“That happens,” he replied, not stopping to look at me as he checked the latch on a gate.

I frowned, sitting on the wooden porch steps. The wood was warm already, holding heat from yesterday like it refused to let go completely.

“I didn’t think I’d last three days,” I admitted.

He paused then, leaning against the fence to look at me. His eyes were clear, no judgment in them—just observation.

“You’re still here,” he said.

“That’s not the same as lasting,” I shot back.

“It is here.”

I rested my elbows on my knees, letting out a slow breath. The sky above was vast, no buildings to block it out. It made my old life feel small somehow.

“I still don’t like it,” I said.

“I know.”

“But I don’t hate it either.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It just… was. Like the air between us had finally stopped pushing back.

“I don’t understand how that happened,” I added quietly.

He sat beside me then—not too close, but close enough that I could feel his presence without straining to see him.

“You stopped deciding too early,” he said.

I glanced at him. “I always decide early. It’s how I avoid getting stuck.”

“I know.”

I looked out at the rows of crops, neat and patient under the sun.

“I’ve never chosen to stay anywhere,” I said.

He turned to face me fully then. His gaze was steady, sure.

“I know.”

And for the first time, those words didn’t feel like a criticism. They felt like he was seeing me clearly—all of me—and still letting me be here.

It was as if he'd peeled away the layers, seen the messy, chaotic parts of me, and still chose to stay. I felt... seen. Really seen. Like I'd been shouting in a crowded room, and finally, someone had heard me.

I wanted to tell him that's what I craved – not judgment, not praise, just understanding. Behind my aloof facade, I'd been screaming to be understood, to be accepted with all my flaws and scars. I didn't need fixing; I needed someone to see me, truly see me, and still say, "You're enough."