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White Clover: The Magical Chance

Did you know that White Clover often grows where no one meant to plant it, between stones, across forgotten paths, in fields left wild by time?

White Clover is the whisper of a moment that almost didn’t happen.

It spreads softly, silently, across meadows and margins, linking roots beneath the soil, connecting places, weaving unseen patterns. It appears unnoticeably, where the earth has made space.

And in early autumn, when the light grows long and the air begins to cool, you can still find it, holding on.

A little sign that some things arrive

simply because they are meant to.

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I

WHERE THE CLOVER REACHED THE STONE

Chapter 1

Vermillion Opening Ceremony

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Mira stood on a precarious incline, her boots digging into the slick mud. She was surrounded by a chaotic tapestry of exposed roots when she adjusted the dials on her camera, and tweaked the angle of her external flash kit. The forest breathed a heavy, damp sigh, holding the moisture of the morning’s downpour in the dense tangle of its understory. Even at high noon, the sun struggled to pierce the ancient, interlocking canopy of southern beech; the light fell in fractured, silvery beams that illuminated dancing motes of mist. The air was cool and smelled of petrichor, deep rot, and sweet, wet moss. Emerging from the dark, decaying bark of a fallen beech log, was a cluster of Mycena interrupta. They were impossibly small, their caps a shocking, electric blue that seemed to glow with an inner bioluminescence against the gloom.

"Got you," she whispered, her eyes widening with the thrill of the hunt.

She shifted her weight, leaning far over the mossy ledge to frame the perfect macro shot. The world narrowed down to the viewfinder: the glossy blue caps and the water droplets clinging to the wood. In her hyper-focus, she didn't feel her jacket bunch up, angling the opening of her pocket downward. The phone slid from her pocket, bounced off a protruding root, tumbled over the edge and vanished into the shallow pond below with a plop.

"No! No, no, no!" Mira scrambled to the lip of the overhang, panic rising in her throat.

Below her, the water rippled outward in lazy circles. Standing knee-deep in the pond, shrouded in the stillness, was Julian, her uncle. He had spent the last twenty minutes freezing in place to track the flight path of a kingfisher, only for the sudden splash to shatter his vigil.

Julian looked up at Mira, who was waving frantically, then back down at the water. He waded forward and reached into the silt and plucked the phone out by one corner, holding it aloft like a prize fish. He inspected the muddy device, then called out to her, his voice echoing lightly off the canyon walls with mirth.

“Mira. How many times have I told you, put a safety strap on your phone when you’re hiking and shooting?”

Mira groaned, crouching back from the log. She never cared much about phones, yet the thought of five full days without one suddenly felt unbearable.

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Four hundred kilometers away, Clara pulled off her sawdust-stained gloves, picked up the basket of freshly cut grey oyster mushrooms, and stepped out of the greenhouse. Outside, the March wind brushed against her face, carrying the briny scent of the sea and the sweet, gentle fragrance of late-season lavender, tousling her silver hair that was usually neatly pinned up. Clara narrowed her eyes slightly toward the sun-drenched bay, walking briskly over to the corner of the garden. Adjusting the basket in her hands, she snipped a few sprigs of rosemary and picked some lemons for the garlic butter sautéed mushrooms they would have for dinner. Clara stepped into the entryway and froze in her tracks before a postal package resting on the table by the door, addressed to Mira. The seal read Vermillion Crown Academy. Her eyes brightened. Setting the basket down, she called out into the house:

“Honey, where’s Mira again?”

Harrison was at the tea table, newspaper open, reading glasses perched low on his nose. He looked up slowly.

“With Julian,” he said. “He took her into the national park on the South Island. It’s been six days. No signal at all.”

Harrison added, with a mild touch of reproach, “You might keep better track of your daughter. She’ll probably be back today.”

Clara picked up the parcel, turning it over and over in her hands, already picturing Mira screaming with joy the moment she saw this letter.

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Mira burst into the dining room where Harrison and Clara were halfway through dinner. Her eyes were red. Her voice cracked.

“Dad… it’s dead. My phone... It jumped into a pond. With Julian’s kingfisher.”

Harrison winced in sympathy. Clara, on the other hand, smiled.

“Honey,” she said gently, “there’s something waiting for you in the living room. Forget the phone for a moment.”

Mira froze. “…Don’t tell me.”

She dropped everything to the floor and bolted outside. A second later, Clara heard her daughter shout with happiness from the living room. Mira ran over, threw herself into Clara's arms with all her might, jumping up and down, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Mom! I got it!” she shouted. “The full scholarship to Vermillion! This has to be a dream. Mom, tell me this is real!”

Clara laughed and tapped Mira’s back calmly, letting the excitement run its course and smoothed a stray lock of hair from Mira’s forehead.

"It is absolutely real," she said, beaming. "And you earned every bit of it."

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Vermillion Crown Academy.

Five months later.

Standing in the center of the grand courtyard, Mira adjusted the hem of her ceremonial robe, a few long strands of her silver hair falling to veil her emerald-green eyes. She held her breath, taking in the solemn yet electrifying atmosphere around her. Nestled behind enchanted forests and shimmering, silver lakes, the legendary Vermillion Crown Academy materialized before a spellbound Mira like a majestic, thousand-year-old palace. The academy stood as a monument to scholarship, science, and culture, a living witness to the flow of time and human civilization, and the childhood dream of Mira and every student alike. And today, the opening day that she had longed for day and night finally arrived. High above, drones hovered and soared; journalists jostled one another for interviews, their camera flashes strobing incessantly. The hushed murmurs of faculty members and honored guests intermingled with the mechanical clicks of hundreds of cameras. Though she had always known Vermillion was one of the world's most prestigious universities, Mira could never have imagined that mere opening day would be this spectacular. Around her, thousands of students in full ceremonial attire began lining up to head inside, their faces a mix of exhilaration, pride, and nervous anticipation.

Suddenly, a ripple of excitement surged through the crowd. The camera flashes intensified tenfold, blazing like a massive strobe light. Who could that be?

Adrian Vale stepped into the assembly yard, with dozens of reporters following closely behind him.

Even a girl from a remote bay area like Mira had long been familiar with that name. He was the sole heir to the titanic Vale Biomedical Group. Rumor had it he earned his PhD at just fourteen and could have easily occupied a professorship; why he had chosen to attend this academy, she wondered.

"Adrian! How does it feel to be the World’s Youngest Science Scholar in Ethics and Innovation?"

"Is it true that FlagThreshold has now become the standard for all United Nations research agencies?"

"With your predictive ethics system running across six continents, why did you choose to come to Vermillion?"

"Do you plan to succeed your family's healthcare empire?"

"What is your vision for the future of biotechnology?"

Adrian remain perfectly composed, his responses polite yet detached.

"I don't owe the future an explanation."

With an effortless grace, he cut through the crowd and headed toward the hall. Mira took a deep breath and stepped into the flowing crowd behind him.

The voice of the Headmaster finally pierced through the commotion, commanding the attention of every freshman.

"Welcome to the beginning of your own legacy."

Mira clenched her fists. The ceremony was about to commence.

"This year, we welcome an exceptional class, one brimming with potential, innovation, and the brightest minds of their generation."

Thunderous applause erupted, ringing in Mira's ears. She adjusted her posture and scanned the crowd, searching for her close group of friends who were sitting somewhere among the other departments. For a fleeting second, Mira thought she had caught the eye of the Vale family genius sitting on the other side of the stage. He probably wasn't looking at her; it was just a coincidence.

Glimpsing Adrian's profile, with that angular face and black hair, that tall stature, and even that ice-cold demeanor, Mira found herself smiling as she remembered her old friend. She wondered if two people in the world could really look so much alike, or if it was just a common trait among geniuses to possess such a detached look, as if their minds were lost in the clouds. He would probably look just like that when he grew up. Vermillion was filled with so many brilliant minds; she could not help but wonder if he was somewhere in this sea of students, or if life had taken him to some far-off corner of the globe. She pulled out her phone, hesitated for a heartbeat, and typed out a message.

To: ☘︎

I made it into Vermillion.
I hope you’re still walking your path. Maybe we’ll cross again.
-M.

The Principal’s voice rang out again.

“Now, we honor the recipients of our highest merit scholarships, those who have demonstrated extraordinary academic excellence and vision.”

“Elara Fontaine.”

Three rows away, Elara took a deep breath and stood up.

“Mira Larkspur.”

For a moment, the world around her blurred. The roaring applause faded into a distant echo while her entire mind focused on the massive stage ahead. Mira forced her leaden legs to move forward, feeling the immense pressure under the collective gaze of thousands of people.

Then, the next name was called.

“Adrian Vale.”

From the left side, Adrian stood up smoothly and strolled toward her like he was taking a leisurely walk in his own garden. He came to a stop right beside her. His eyes met hers for a passing moment before moving away, looking out toward the distant crowd.

The camera flashed.

And just like that, the first picture of them together, a tense Mira and a distant-eyed Adrian, was frozen in time.

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