Chapter 40: TIME
Melissa said she didn't mind the limp. She said it lightly, like it didn't matter.
"As long as I can walk," she'd joked once. "Who cares if I drag one foot?"
Violet smiled back, She didn't argue.
But something in her chest hardened.
That night, Violet returned to the university dorm. She rubbed her whip, let herself move—dance—until the world blurred.
The greenhouse . The space.
It welcomed her with patient breath.
She opened the guardiab book and searched.
And in there she found something. A massage cream.
One meant not to rush healing—but guide it.
To heal and loosen tightened or weak muscles ~muscles that has forgotten how to work.
SILVER- THREAD VINE.
GHOST MARROW ROOT.
TWO THOUSAND YEAR OLD GINSENG, their roots twisted with ancient endurance.
It was all that was needed.
"I'm sorry," Violet whispered—not to the plants, but to the girl who didn't know she deserved more.
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Seven days. Seven nights.
A week went by.
Not a miracle. A correction.
When Violet returned with the jar, she knelt before Melissa.
"For your leg," she said.
"You said you were okay with limping."
"I'm not."
And that was enough.
Violet would never let pain be mistaken for destiny.
Even when she wasn't there every day—she would make sure Melissa doesn't just accept what life gives her.
She will help her know that it's okay to hope, it's not over until it really is.
That she was still fighting.
Quietly.
Relentlessly.
For the girl who learned to walk again, and thought that was all she deserved.
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Time didn't stop for Melissa. If anything, it grew heavier.
Another schedule was added to her already full days—therapy in the mornings, studying in the afternoons, evenings split between Jeff, Dannon, and Violet. And when it wasn't studying or therapy, Violet was there, patient and focused, helping massage her legs, guiding muscles that still resisted, still remembered pain.
Days blurred. Then weeks.
Weeks turned into months.
And suddenly—exams arrived.
Melissa walked into the examination hall carrying only a single piece of confidence and her walking stick.
She walked out with three quarters of it.
Not arrogance. Not certainty.
Just the quiet knowledge that she had done her best.
That she had tried. And she hadn't failed.
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Weeks later, the results came.
She didn't just pass.
She was in the top ten.
Then the top five.
She was fourth in the whole province.
For someone who had been asleep for years—someone who had relearned how to sit, how to stand, how to walk—fourth place was nothing short of astonishing.
Even Principal Aiden was surprised when he saw the list.
"Remarkable," he'd said, shaking his head. "Truly."
They didn't tell her right away.
Instead, Violet, Jeff, and Dannon planned something else.
A surprise.
April came. Andrea. Victoria. Emery.
Even Miss Irene was there—round and heavy with pregnancy, glowing, laughing, her hand resting instinctively on her stomach. She'd married Mr. Ian, Clara's teacher, a year ago, and somehow the news made the room feel warmer.
When Melissa returned from therapy that afternoon, tired and sore, she stopped short in the doorway.
Everyone was there. For a second, she just stared.
Then she cried.
She laughed through tears, tried to say something meaningful, ended up giving a shaky, heartfelt speech that made everyone cry harder. Someone shoved cake into her hands. Someone else smeared it across her face.
There were hugs. Too many hugs.
Presents she didn't expect.
Love she didn't ask for—but received anyway.
If you asked Melissa what she thought about that day, she would tell you without hesitation:
It was the best day of her life.
Even without her parents there. Especially without her parents there.
Because she finally understood something important— Even when they weren't there,
she wasn't alone.
She had a whole squad behind her.
And that was more than enough.
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Two months passed after the results were out.
Slow months. Careful months.
Months filled with early mornings, aching muscles, walking sticks being left behind, quiet victories, and setbacks that no one talked about out loud.
And then, one morning, the doctor smiled.
"You're cleared," he said. "You can go home."
Home.
For Melissa, it didn't mean a bedroom she hadn't seen in years, or parents waiting with open arms.
It meant freedom.
She left the hospital on her own two feet.
Not running. Not perfect.
But walking.
There was still a limp—small enough that most people wouldn't notice unless they were looking for it. A ghost of what she'd survived. A reminder, not a limitation.
All thanks to Violet.
From the careful therapy. The endless patience. The cream Violet never bragged about. The quiet nights spent fixing what the world had broken.
From the hospital, Melissa didn't go back.
She went forward. Straight into university life.
New hallways replaced white corridors. Laughter replaced monitors. Sunlight replaced fluorescent lights. She learned where her classes were, how long her legs could last before they ached, which benches felt safest to rest on.
Some days were easier. Some days hurt.
But every step she took on campus felt unreal—in the best way.
She wasn't surviving anymore.
She was living.
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Time never stopped.
It moved quietly—like breath—steady and relentless.
By the time Melissa settled into the university campus as a new student, the world had already shifted around her.
She learned quickly.
The rhythm of lectures. The weight of textbooks against her hip. The way her leg ached when the day went long, and how it always loosened if she gave herself time.
She made friends.
Gracie—bright, talkative, kind in the effortless way.
Jonah—calm, observant, always walking on her left side without being asked.
Every morning, Jeff walked her to class. Every evening, he walked her back to her dorm.
At first it was habit. Then comfort. Then something warmer, something quieter, something that didn't need words.
By the end of her first year, Melissa realized she laughed more than she ever had before.
Not because life was easy— But because it was hers again.
Above her, life moved forward too.
Violet, Victoria, April, Jeff, and Emery entered their third year—older, steadier, facing their futures with well-worn armor.
Andrea, Dannon, Angelo, Lucas, and Clay finally graduated.
Caps were thrown. Photos were taken. Promises were made.
And time kept going.
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Another year passed.
The seasons changed without asking permission.
Violet and her entire squad were nearing graduation.
Jeff and Melissa, somewhere between shared study nights and quiet walks home, fell into love—not loudly, not dramatically, but deeply. The kind of love that held space instead of filling it.
Melissa became a second-year student.
Stronger. Wiser. Still healing—but walking forward.
And then came graduation day.
The air was warm. The sky impossibly blue. The kind of day that felt like a beginning even while it marked an ending.
Violet stood among her friends, her gown brushing against her legs, laughter still clinging to her from the ceremony.
She thought the day was over.
She was wrong.
Andrea who came to support Violet couldn't wait for the crowd to thin.
Couldn't wait for the noise to soften.
Couldn't wait until it was just the two of them beneath the open sky, exactly as he and his friends had planned.
He took her hand.
Amid the students, amid the chatter—
Violet looked up at him, confused, smiling.
"Andrea?"
He didn't rush. He never did with her.
He knelt on one knee.
Gasps rippled through the crowd—students, parents, friends frozen in shock.
"Host, what is the boytoy doing?" Vira asked, equally stunned.
"I've loved you," Andrea said quietly, "in every version of you. The loud one. The stubborn one. The scared one who pretends she isn't."
Violet's smile trembled. She knew where this was going.
"I've loved you when time moved too fast," he continued, voice steady, "and when it felt like it might stop. When everything was uncertain—except you."
"I knew," he added softly, "even before I officially met you, that you were the only one for me."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ring box.
The world went very still.
"I don't want a perfect life," Andrea said. "I want a real one. With you. Through every season, every fight, every quiet morning and every impossible night."
Tears spilled freely now, her vision blurring.
"So," he whispered, opening the box, never taking his eyes off her—
The ring glittered in the sunlight.
"Will you marry me?"
For a moment, Violet couldn't speak.
Then she laughed—broken and breathless—and nodded furiously through her tears.
"Yes," she cried. "Yes—Andrea, yes."
He stood, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her like the world wasn't watching.
Like time could keep moving—as long as they moved together.
Cheers and applause erupted around them.
Vira twirled inside Violet's mind, shouting congratulations and setting off imaginary fireworks and confetti.
Victoria hugged Lucas and cried loudly into his shoulder. A rigid, shocked Lucas awkwardly patted her back, still processing the unexpected koala attack.
Nearby, Melissa watched, Jeff slipping an arm around her shoulders. They smiled widely—happy for their friend.
A friendship they weren't even sure they deserved.
Even mischievous Dannon and stoic Clay hugged each other, laughing, happy for their boss.
Everyone there knew it hadn't been easy getting here.
It wasn't all rainbows and colors—there were storms too. Unexpected ones.
But in that moment, every soul who knew them, who had seen their pain, knew without a doubt—
This day was earned.
It was worth it.
And for the first time, no one was afraid of where the future was going.
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Kingsley found out the way he always did.
Too late. Too directly.
The moment he and Lily stepped out of the car to attend their daughter's graduation, he saw it.
From the front row. A VVIP seat.
He saw the proposal.
He saw her say yes.
He saw the kiss—the kind that made it feel like his daughter was being swallowed whole by a future that no longer needed him.
He saw it all.
And he couldn't stop it.
Without a word, he turned around and left.
Straight to the car, Lily following close behind.
The moment he sat down, he pulled out his phone and stared at Violet's photo—the one he used as his wallpaper.
"She said yes," he whispered. "My baby said yes. How could she say yes?"
That was all Lily heard as she climbed in beside him.
She sighed, folding her arms, already knowing where this was headed.
He stared at the photo like it had betrayed him.
"No," he said suddenly.
Lily sighed again—the long-suffering kind. The kind that came from decades of loving a difficult man.
"Kingsley—"
"No," he repeated, sharper. "Absolutely not. She's too young. I don't agree. That Mist boy is deceiving her. That Mist boy—"
"That Mist boy protected her," Lily cut in gently. "Loved her. Trusted her. Just like you taught her to value."
Kingsley scoffed, turning away. "He's not sincere. He'll hurt her."
Lily moved closer and placed a hand on his back.
"We don't know that," she said softly. "What matters is that she chose him."
"She saw him as her future—and she chose that for herself."
That broke him.
The fight drained away all at once.
Kingsley sank back, shoulders trembling.
"She's my little girl," he whispered. "I blinked, Lily. I blinked—and suddenly she doesn't need me to walk her home anymore."
Lily wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her cheek against his head.
"She still needs you," she said gently. "Just not in the same way."
Kingsley cried then.
Ugly. Unrestrained.
Like a man mourning a season of his life he could never get back.
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One day later, Violet called her parents to inform them about the proposal—fully expecting drama.
Surprisingly, there was none.
They took it well.
Even Vira couldn't help asking, "Host… is crack number one okay?"
Ignoring her, Violet explained that an official meeting between the families would take place the following week.
No objections were raised.
It felt too easy.
So easy it made Violet uneasy—almost guilty for expecting conflict.
When the call ended, she didn't see what happened next.
Kingsley collapsed into Lily's arms and burst into tears all over again.