When she asked if I wanted to go out, for so reason I thought she ant... sothing else. You know, "going out." Like a date. So when I realized she was actually talking about accompanying her to buy food at the festival stalls, I felt a heat rush to my ears. I was a little embarrassed for having misinterpreted everything, but I tried not to show it too much.
"Sorry, I totally forgot," I said finally, with an apologetic expression on my face as I scratched the back of my neck.
She didn’t answer imdiately, just looked away. As if she was concentrating on sothing else. The blush that had already colored her cheeks was still there, albeit very faintly. For a mont, I thought she might scold or give one of her dirty looks, the kind that can make you feel like an idiot in less than three seconds. Instead, she put a hand to her neck and cleared her throat slightly, as if she needed to clear her throat... or her thoughts.
"Are you okay?" I asked, leaning toward her slightly. "Your face is red. Are you catching a cold?"
Alia slowly turned toward with a strange expression, as if I’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. Her eyes, normally so expressive, were narrowed and fixed on as if trying to read between the lines.
"No... it’s not that. It’s just hot," she finally murmured, lowering her gaze. Then she quickly turned around, walking toward the hallway that led to the campus gardens.
I stood still, observing her strange behavior for a couple of seconds, as I watched her walk away with sowhat hurried steps. I thought: Hot? I looked around. The sky was partly cloudy, a cool breeze blowing through the place. The weather was more than pleasant. Even a little chilly. I frowned slightly.
"Maybe she’s pushing herself too hard again," I murmured, rembering how hard she can be on herself sotis. Always trying to do everything perfectly, as if she were trying to prove sothing. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was starting to show signs of burnout.
I sighed and followed her very calmly, though that didn’t hide how worried and amused I felt. She walked with her arms crossed and her back slightly stiff, as if she were trying not to think about anything. Or too much.
"Hey," I called from the side, "if you’re feeling bad, you should rest. I don’t want you to bla later because you fainted in the middle of the festival."
She stopped imdiately upon hearing my words and looked at over her shoulder.
"I’m not going to faint, idiot," she said in her usual dry tone, but without any real anger.
I shrugged with a half-smile.
"Okay, but if you do, I’m not going to hold you like a princess. This isn’t one of those romance novels you read."
"I don’t read that stuff!" she exclaid, visibly redder than before.
I chuckled and walked over to stand beside her.
"Of course not," I said, feigning complete seriousness. "You’re just practicing princess-in-love dialogue for... academic research, aren’t you?"
Alia glared at , but instead of answering, she gave a gentle push with her shoulder. It wasn’t hard, but firm enough to convey how she felt. Although her attempt at a straight face crumbled when she covered her mouth with her hand, clearly trying to hide a smile.
***
As we walked slowly, enjoying the paths adorned with paper lanterns and colorful banners strung across the street, the bustle of the students added to the festival atmosphere. The strong aromas of sweets, fried foods, and spices filled the air, enveloping us and seeping into our noses.
Alia continued walking silently beside , her hands clasped behind her back. She hadn’t said a word, but her eyes darted intently from side to side, absorbing every detail of the festival. Her cheeks were still slightly flushed, though I couldn’t tell if it was from the walk, the warm atmosphere, or sothing else.
It wasn’t long before one of the stalls caught our attention. It was decorated with colorful ribbons and small hand-painted pictures of fruit. The effort the students had put into it was evident. It was a crepe stand, run by a group of first-years who, judging by their wrinkled uniforms and the traces of flour on their clothes, had been working tirelessly for hours.
"It looks delicious," I comnted, approaching curiously. There were sweet crepes with strawberry, banana, and chocolate, and savory ones with ham, cheese, and grilled vegetables.
Alia didn’t look at once or even respond, but I saw her glance at the nu with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Want one? It’s on ," I said, smiling a little as I saw her lips curl into a barely contained grimace.
"The strawberry one... with cream," she finally murmured.
I ordered two crepes, one for her and one for —I chose the chocolate and almond crepe—and while we waited, we watched the kids at work. The effort they’d put into it was palpable: while one whisked the batter, another turned the crepes on hot plates, and finally, a third quickly wrapped and served them. The scene was truly fascinating; it had a certain charming quality, as if everyone shared the sa energy of excitent in the making process, typical of those who make sothing for the first ti and want it to be perfect.
When the crepes were delivered, Alia took hers carefully, as if she didn’t want to spoil the presentation. She took small, almost timid bites, resembling a squirrel gathering food between her cheeks. It wasn’t long before we were walking through the crowd again.
The festival was livelier than ever. Not only with the excited students, but also visitors from the city and neighboring towns. So nobles, relatives of the cadets, strolled with their friends or attendants, so watching with curiosity and others with that distant attitude that usually accompanied the aristocracy. There was laughter, the soft music of flutes and drums ward the hearts of those who listened to it, even a group of children running around in animal masks, chasing each other through the stalls.
(The masks were purchased from a craft stand made by the students.)
"Isn’t it a little... crowded?" I asked, scanning the crowd.
"I guess everyone wanted to co this year. The magic exhibition attracted quite a bit of attention," Alia replied, still a little thoughtful.
I nodded. I rembered hearing that several renowned magicians from the magic tower would be attending as special guests. Perhaps to watch the ranking battle between the teachers. I was excited too.
"Afterwards, we should go see the exhibition," I said, my eyes twinkling slightly.
Alia let out a small laugh. It wasn’t often I heard her laugh, but when she did, she always seed lighter, as if she’d let her guard down for a mont.
As we walked, we stopped here and there, looking at each stall. There was one selling rice balls decorated in the shapes of small animals, another selling Western food sizzling on iron trays as the cooks turned them with chopsticks. Later, we found a stall selling traditional sweets packaged in glass jars filled with shiny candies, mochi filled with jam, and dango skewers covered in thick syrup.
Alia stopped in front of the latter and looked at the brichetad with slightly lancholic eyes and a kinder gaze.
"Do you like them?" I asked.
"My mother used to make them at ho when I was little. To celebrate small things, like getting a good grade or... learning a new spell without fail."
Looking at her, I felt a little sorry for her. And I gently patted her head to offer so comfort.
Alia seed a little surprised and didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but when I dared to look at her, I saw her eyes fixed on , warm and serene.
"Thank you."
We bought two skewers of dango to share while we enjoyed the taste that rose in our mouths. Sohow, that small conversation seed to bring us closer than many of the nurous exchanges we’ve had.
The afternoon continued without problems, the sky slowly turning pastel. The magic lanterns began to shine brighter one after another, their strong light not only illuminating the surroundings but also making everything seem to have its own fascinating glow. The garden paths were covered in flower petals, probably made by the botany club students in charge of the decorations. It was like walking inside a dream.
Later, we stopped in front of a fairly well-organized stage where the first-year students were preparing a drama club performance. The sets were quite well-made, with fabric, painted wood, and so illusion spells that projected moving images—in my world, it would be sothing like a 3D movie theater. The performance wouldn’t start until evening, but there were already people reserving seats with blankets and cushions.
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