Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the wooden window, burning against Elira’s back until sweat beaded on her skin. Her feet struck the floor to the rhythm of the music as her body spun lightly, the orange sash around her waist fluttering with every turn.

The dance hall was filled with the echo of bamboo gamelan and the beat of drums—quick, steady, alive. Elira stood in the front row with the other girls.

“Smile a little, Elira.”

Samara’s raspy but firm voice snapped her out of thought, as if the elder knew Elira’s body was present, but her mind was somewhere far away.

When the music finally stopped, Elira’s breath came in short bursts. Sweat dampened her skin. The other girls laughed and chatted, but instead of joining them, Elira sat down on the wooden floor, knees pulled to her chest, face buried between them. The world around her buzzed, yet all she felt was a suffocating quiet.

“What’s troubling you, child? You’ve looked gloomy all day.” Samara sat beside her. The elder’s smile was kind, though her gaze stayed sharp.

“Nothing. I just didn’t sleep well last night,” Elira said softly, eyes fixed on the floor.

“I see.” Samara patted her shoulder. “You must be tired, then. Raka’s been waiting for you, you know. If he stared any harder, I’d be burned alive by now.”

Elira lifted her head, peeking past Samara’s shoulder. Raka stood behind one of the wooden pillars, arms crossed over his chest.

You could’ve said something sooner, she thought as their eyes met. Who knew how long he’d been standing there?

Elira forced a small smile at Samara, who nodded in reply. She stood and walked toward Raka just as he began moving toward her.

“You were waiting for me?” Elira asked.

Raka handed her a wooden tube. “Help me carry these to the field. My hands are full.”

Elira frowned. Full? He wasn’t carrying anything except a bow strapped across his back.

“Come on,” Raka said when she stayed still. “Before it gets dark.”

Her feet moved on their own, following him. She peeked inside the tube—it was filled with arrows.

“You’re really joining the archery contest?” she asked. “Didn’t you say you were busy?”

“The prize is worth it.”

Elira wanted to ask more, but Raka quickened his pace. By the time they reached the field, he was already setting up his bow.

A few villagers waved as they passed before returning to their own practice. Elira opened her mouth to speak, but Raka shoved a bow into her hands instead. His eyes glinted with challenge.

“What’s this?”

“A bow,” he said flatly. “Show me what you can do.”

Elira raised an eyebrow. “Me? I’m a dancer, not an archer.”

Raka pushed the bow into her hands and placed an arrow in her palm. “Just try.”

Hesitant, Elira lifted the bow. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the string. Raka stepped closer, his body brushing lightly against her back.

“Pull,” he whispered. His breath was warm near her ear. His hand rested on her back, straightening her posture. “Focus ahead. Feel the wind. Let the bow breathe with you.”

Elira didn’t understand a word of it. She bit her lip. The arrow shook between her fingers until Raka touched her elbow.

“Now—release.”

The string snapped, the bow thrummed, and the arrow fell halfway to the target. Elira winced. Raka chuckled for the first time that day.

“I told you, I’m terrible at this,” Elira muttered.

Without a word, Raka took the bow and nocked another arrow. His focus sharpened, eyes locked on the target. One swift motion—and thunk. The arrow hit dead center.

Elira’s mouth fell open. “Since when are you that good?”

“Since I realized you love underestimating me,” he said, a faint smile crossing his face.

Elira snatched the bow back, straightening her stance. She tried again. The arrow barely left the ground.

But Elira wasn’t the type to give up easily. She drew another arrow, took a deep breath, and released. It flew a little farther this time—but still missed. Again and again, the arrows fell short, one even landing right in front of the target as if mocking her.

Panting, Elira lowered the bow. Her arms ached, and her chest heaved. She never knew archery could be more exhausting than dance practice.

“Feeling better now?” Raka asked.

Elira turned to him, too tired to answer. But strangely, she did feel lighter. The heaviness that had lingered since morning had started to fade. For a moment, she even forgot about the child she saw in the forest yesterday—all those unanswered questions, all that unease.

“You brought me here for this?” she asked.

Raka shrugged. “Releasing an arrow is like releasing a thought. Every shot clears your head a little.”

Elira scoffed, but the corner of her lips lifted. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Clear my head? Those arrows clearly hate me. They’d rather fall to the ground than hit the board.”

Raka smiled faintly. He reached out, patting her head gently. “It’s not the arrows,” he said softly. “It’s your mind. You’re too tangled inside.”

Elira wanted to reply, but the words caught in her throat when their eyes met. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the wind whispered through the grass. Her face grew warm, and she quickly looked away.

“Your feelings, your doubts, your worries—you keep holding them in,” Raka said. “That’s why your aim wavers.”

Elira froze. She didn’t know how to respond.

Raka took the bow from her hands, slinging it over his shoulder. “The harder you cling to it, the harder it is to let go. When your heart is calm, the arrow will find its path.”

Elira looked up at him. “You sound poetic tonight. Are we still talking about archery?”

“Of course. What else would we be talking about?” His tone was flat, his face unreadable.

Elira let out a small laugh. “Didn’t know you could cheer people up.”

Raka crossed his arms. “If you’re smiling, then I guess it worked.”

Their eyes met again. For a heartbeat, the world fell silent. The night air brushed against Elira’s hair, cool and gentle—yet her face still burned.

Raka turned away first, stepping back to collect the scattered arrows.

Elira’s gaze followed his back. She didn’t say anything, but her heart was full of questions she couldn’t voice.

“You have another dance practice tomorrow, right?” Raka asked, packing up his things. “Let’s head back.”

Elira nodded. They walked side by side toward the village. The night breeze carried the scent of wet soil, and Elira inhaled deeply.

Raka’s words echoed in her mind. Her thoughts really were a mess—and maybe that was why everything felt so heavy lately. She took a long breath, letting the cool night fill her lungs.

“Raka,” she called softly when they reached her house. “Thank you for tonight. I might be terrible at archery, but you’re right—it does feel lighter now.”

Raka looked at her for a moment, then nodded once. “Get some rest. You’ll need your energy tomorrow.”

Without waiting for her reply, he turned and walked away. Elira stood on her porch, watching until he disappeared inside his house next door.

Her gaze drifted to the sky, full of stars. Can I really let go of everything I’m holding inside? she wondered. One question lingered in her heart as she finally stepped inside.