THE FIERY DRAGON AND THE STORMY EYES

The sun, a benevolent giant, poured golden syrup through the wide windows of Mrs. Hawthorne’s Class Two Classroom. Elara, her elbows and fingers were covered in ink and paint as she was meticulously drawing a green dragon. The dragon’s emerald scales shimmering even on the plain white paper. It was clear she had talent even at a young age. Her tongue was caught between her teeth, showing her fierce concentration as she poured her soul into the task. Beside her was Caspian, a quiet boy with the eyes the colour of a stormy sea – blue for simplicity, his hair was neatly parted to the side. His eyes lit up as he observed Elara making her masterpiece with the same focused intensity she had, though his own paper remained blank.

Elara, sensing his gaze, huffed a frustrated breath that lifted a stray strand of her fiery red hair from her forehead. “Stop staring. You’re distracting my dragon.”

Caspian blinked, his gaze locked on the drawing. “I’m not staring. I’m… studying your technique.”

“You’re weird,” Elara said.

She snorted but a small, smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Even at nine, she knew her drawings were good, better than anyone else’s in the class. “Well, if you must know. My secret technique is Dragon Magic.

Caspian’s eyes widened making a huge smile. “Wow! Dragon magic sounds…hard. I could never do that.”

“It is,” Elara declared. “But if you’re very good, and very quiet, I might teach you.”

“I’m Elara by the way.”

“Uhm…I’m Caspian. Nice to meet you.”

That is the story of how their unspoken pact was forged in the fertile ground of primary school imagination. Elara, the firecracker, bursting with vibrant creativity and a spirit as untamed as her red hair. Caspian, the steady observer, a quiet well of thoughtful intelligence and an unexpected depth behind those stormy eyes. He became her audience, her critic, her most devoted admirer. He sat beside her during finger painting, patiently accepting the splatters of cerulean blue that inevitably landed on his pristine uniform. He would listen to her elaborate tales of knights and princesses of faraway lands and mythical beasts and watch them being brough to life on the papers. He himself preferred the grounded realities of dinosaurs and space aliens.

At first they couldn’t explain it, the close bond they shared. It started as best friend kind of love but with time it grew. Love, at that age, wasn't a grand, sweeping emotion. It was the comfort of knowing someone saw you, really saw you, even when you were covered in paint or rambling on about dragons. It was the acceptance of each other’s weirdness, the little things. It was the shared secret of a half-eaten chocolate bar under the desk, the silent understanding during spelling tests, the race to get to the swings first at lunchtime. For Elara, love was Caspian’s quiet presence, his unwavering gaze that made her feel like her dragon drawings were masterpieces, even when they were wonky and disproportionate. For Caspian, love was Elara's infectious laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her passions, the confidence she inspired in him simply by being unapologetically herself. He’d never met anyone as brilliantly, wonderfully Elara as Elara was.

Their childhood love story unfolded in stolen moments on the school oval, whispered promises under the shade of the ancient oak tree, and hand-drawn cards adorned with glitter and crayon hearts on Valentine Day. They were inseparable, two halves of a mismatched but perfectly balanced whole. They built castles in the sandpit, ruled imaginary kingdoms in the playground, and dreamed together of a future as vast and limitless as the sky above them. They were, in their own innocent, passionate way, epic.

Of course, Elara kept her promise and tried to teach Caspian how to draw, how to paint, but alas, he could not replicate her extreme talent. Caspian didn’t mind, though, he always enjoyed watching anyway and wasn’t a doer. Years went by and seasons changed and before long they were in their last year of primary school at class eight. Then, the axe fell. Elara’s father, an architect with a restless soul, announced they were moving. To the other side of the country. Suddenly, the vibrant tapestry of their childhood world unravelled at the edges.

The goodbye was tearful, clumsy and utterly heartbreaking. Elara usually so cheerful was chocked with sobs, her now short red hair covering a part of her face as she hugged him closely. Caspian, typically stoic, stood stiffly, his stormy eyes glistening, a single tear escaping and tracing a lonely path down his cheek. He gave her a carefully folded paper aeroplane, its wings intricately designed. She gave him a drawing of a dragon just the one when they first met, fiercer and more magnificent than ever, its claws were holding to a single, perfect red rose.

“Don’t forget me,” Elara whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“Never,” Caspian promised, his voice barely above a breath. “Don’t cut your hair again. I always thought it was beautiful that way.”

And then, she was gone.

Years blurred into a kaleidoscope of new schools, new faces, new cities. Primary school became a hazy, sun-drenched memory, like a half-forgotten dream. Eventually, they both moved on as children do, the ghost of their childhood connection fading with time.
Elara, while carrying the spark of her vibrant personality, learned to navigate the social currents of teenage life. She kept up her art but no longer was she drawing dragons. As she grew so did her style focusing on realism and abstract instead of mythical creatures.
Caspian, grounded and focused, excelled in his studies, his quiet intelligence blossoming into a sharp, analytical mind. He was awarded a scholarship to study Engineering at a top university.

Six years after that tearful goodbye, Elara was crossing the road at 27th street, her red hair flowing down her back, holding onto a black sketchbook tightly. After a routine check at the main gate, she entered into the bustling courtyard of Crestwood University. She made her way to Orientation, feeling a dizzying mix of excitement and anxiety when suddenly…

“Excuse me? Did you drop this?” a deep voice asked.

Elara turned, her gaze meeting his for a moment.

He was taller, broader, the childish softness of his face sharpened into mature angles. His hair was still perpetually escaping his side-parting, but now it framed a face that was undeniably handsome, those stormy eyes now holding a depth of intelligence and quiet confidence that made her breath hitch.

He was holding a paint-stained sketchbook, a sketchbook that was undeniably hers.

“Oh, thank you!” she stammered, reaching out to take it. Their fingers brushed as she took it, a jolt of something…electric…passing between them. She looked up again, properly this time, really seeing him. And then recognition, slow and hesitant at first, dawned in her eyes. Those eyes, those stormy, unforgettable eyes…

“Caspian?”

His eyes widened, mirroring her own surprise, his gaze searching her face, lingering on the fiery cascade of her hair, as if trying to piece together a puzzle from fragmented memories.

“Elara?” he echoed, his voice filled with disbelief. “Is that…really you?”

Time seemed to fold in on itself, the bustling courtyard fading into a hazy background as their worlds narrowed, focusing solely on each other. It was like a step back in time as they watched each other’s features transform from their childhood years into their present self.

“It’s me,” she whispered, a breathless laugh escaping her lips. She reached up almost instinctively and pushed back a stray strand of hair from her forehead/

Caspian blinked, his eyes softening, a gesture as familiar as breathing, ingrained as his own heartbeat. “Your hair…It’s still…well, you know.”

Elara chuckled, a sound that bubbled up from deep within her, “Still a fire hazard? You always did have a way with words, Caspian.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, a silence that spoke volumes, filled with unspoken memories and the unspoken question hanging in the air: how could this be real?

Then, Caspian, ever the practical one, cleared his throat. “So… Art Department, then?” he gestured to her sketchbook.

“Fine Arts, yes,” Elara confirmed. “And you?”

“Engineering,” he replied.

They stood there for a moment longer, bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun, two souls reunited, drawn back together by an invisible, irresistible force. The years of separation seemed to crumble away, the awkwardness of reunion dissolving into a comfortable familiarity that felt both startlingly new and achingly old.

“Coffee?” Caspian asked, tilting his head towards the campus café.

Elara’s smile bloomed again, radiant and hopeful. “I’d like that very much. But we have to get back in time for Orientation.”

As they walked together side-by-side into the café, the noises of other students fading behind them. They talked for hours, catching up on the years they had missed, weaving together the threads of their separate lives discovering the subtle ways their paths had diverged and yet, somehow always remained connected like two branches from the same ancient tree.

“No dragons?” Caspian asked flipping through the sketchbook.

Elara shook her head to gesture no.
As he flipped through, he stopped at an image of a face, coloured with markers. It resembled his face from when he was much younger but aged a bit.

“Is this supposed to be me?” he asked laughing.

Elara covered her mouth laughing. “Well, I hadn’t seen you for a long time. I tried my best.”

“I love it.”

The sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the skies in hues of fiery orange and soft lavender, they stepped out of the café Caspian strapping his green Sling bag to his left side. He removed a cramped-up paper of a drawing.

“You know, I still kept this. Hoping I would see you again.”

Elara laughed looking away guiltily. “I’m sorry your plane didn’t make it.”

They glanced at each other for a while before erupting into loud laughter and hugging each other closely, just like before only this time, they were reconnecting.

“It’s… incredible, isn’t it?” Elara said softly, breaking up the hug. “That after all this time…”

Caspian stopped, turning to face her, his stormy eyes reflecting the fading twilight.

 “…We still… can’t keep time,” he said smiling.

 He then spoke, his voice low and earnest, “ Some things…are just meant to be, Elara. Some connections…”

“…They’re too strong to break,’ she finished his words perfectly.

He reached out, tentatively at first, and gently cupped her face in his hands, his touch sending a shiver of warmth down her spine. Elara looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest, a thrilling, terrifying, exhilarating sense of déjà vu washing over her. The unspoken understanding, that same undeniable pull.

And then, he leaned down, his gaze locking with hers, and kissed her. It wasn’t a passionate, whirlwind kiss, but a soft, tender one, hesitant yet sure, a kiss that tasted of memory and promise, of childhood dreams and adult possibilities.

“Guess orientation will have to wait till tomorrow,” Elara said smiling.

In that quiet moment, under the vast, star-dusted university sky, Elara and Caspian knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within their souls, that their story, far from over, it was just the beginning. And this time, destiny it seemed was firmly on their side.