An Unforgiving Desert – Chapter 13

The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. I breathed deeply, savoring the unfamiliar freshness. Holy shit. I’d never smelled anything like it before. The forests of Ossun stretched out before me, a sea of green so vast it made my spacer heart skip a beat. I’d never seen so many trees in one place before. It was like being swallowed by a giant, leafy monster.

I scanned the crowd of excited teens, looking for a familiar face. Come on, come on. Where was he? My heart did a little flip when I spotted him — Saif, with his mess of dark curls and easy smile. We’d met at far-school two years ago, and I’d been low-key obsessed ever since. Not that I’d ever admit it out loud, of course.

“All right, campers!” The instructor’s voice cut through the chatter. “Today, we’re learning essential survival skills. Pay attention — your life might depend on this someday.”

I straightened, my eyes sharp and focused. This was my chance to prove myself, to show everyone that Skylar Kawabata was more than just a pretty face or a family name. I’d fought hard for this opportunity, enduring endless arguments with my mother and Dominic. They didn’t see the point in ‘playing in the dirt,’ as Dom had so eloquently put it. Fuck him. Knowledge was power, and I was determined to soak up every bit of it I could.

“Now, can anyone tell me why we start with plant identification?” the instructor asked, holding up a leaf.

My hand shot up before I could stop myself. Old habits die hard, I guess. The instructor nodded at me.

“Plants can be both life-saving and deadly,” I said, my fifteen-year-old voice clear and confident. “Knowing which is which could mean the difference between survival and a painful death.”

The instructor grinned. “Excellent answer! Looks like we’ve got a sharp one here, folks.”

I felt a flush of pride, quickly followed by a familiar sense of unease. Standing out often led to resentment from my peers. I braced myself for the eye rolls and muttered comments.

“Still the smartest girl in the room, huh, Skylar?” Saif’s voice came from behind me, warm with amusement.

I turned, a grin spreading across my face despite my best efforts to play it cool. “Someone’s got to keep you on your toes.”

He laughed, and my whole body jolted to life. Damn, I’d missed that laugh.

“Partner up!” the instructor called out. “You’ll be working together to identify local plants and build a basic shelter.”

Saif raised an eyebrow at me. “What do you say? Want to be partners? For old times’ sake?”

I pretended to consider it, tapping my chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Last time we partnered up, you nearly set the lab on fire.”

“Hey, that was one time,” he protested, his eyes dancing with mirth. “And admit it, it made chemistry way more exciting.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “Fine,” I said, trying to sound put-upon. “I guess I can babysit you again.”

“Your generosity knows no bounds.” He placed a hand over his heart and bowed.

I always liked that about him. He was sarcastic and witty but seldom unkind.

As the instructor began detailing the local flora, my mind whirred into action. Each plant name, each identifying characteristic, each potential use — all of it filed away in perfect clarity. My brain categorized and cross-referenced all the information. It was like a supercomputer, but way sexier.

“Okay, everyone,” the instructor said, holding up a nasty-looking fungus. “Who can tell me what this is and why we should avoid it?”

My hand twitched, but I held back, not wanting to seem like a know-it-all.

Saif nudged me. “Go on,” he whispered. “I know you’re dying to answer.”

I shot him a look, but raised my hand anyway. When called upon, I launched into a detailed explanation. “That’s Ossun’s Fire Fungus. It’s highly toxic if ingested, causing severe hallucinations and organ failure. But more dangerously, its spores can cause respiratory distress if inhaled. It tends to grow in damp, shaded areas and has a distinctive sulfuric smell when disturbed.”

The instructor’s eyebrows shot up. “Very impressive. Have you studied mycology before?”

I shook my head. “No, sir. I just… remember things easily.”

“That’s an understatement,” Saif muttered, but he was smiling. “You and that brain of yours are going to take over the galaxy someday, I swear.”

I elbowed him, but couldn’t help the pleased smile that crept onto my face. “Shut up and help me gather branches for our shelter.”

As we worked together to construct our shelter, I found myself relaxing in Saif’s presence. He was quick to laugh, eager to learn, and never once made me feel like I was showing off when I remembered something perfectly. It was… nice. Really nice.

“So,” Saif said as we wove branches together, “how was your year?”

I nodded, focusing on the intricate weave pattern. He didn’t know about my home life, and I wasn’t about to start confessing now. “Same old, same old. You?”

He shrugged. “Can’t complain. Missed this, though. Far-school, I mean. And, you know, hanging out with you.”

I looked up, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It’s… different with you. Good different.”

I quickly looked back down at our half-finished shelter.

Don’t get attached, Skylar. I couldn’t have him.

“Well, someone’s got to keep you from burning down the forest,” I quipped, trying to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere.

Saif laughed, the tension broken. “There she is. I was worried you’d gone soft on me for a second there.”

As the day wore on, Saif and I gravitated towards each other, even during breaks. We’d wander a little way from the group, pointing out interesting plants or unusual rock formations. We used our imaginations and played like little kids, not teenagers.

It was fun.

When was the last time I’d had actual fun?

A year ago, when I last had attended far-school. It was the only fun I was allowed to have.

Late in the day, we found ourselves in a small clearing, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above. Saif plopped down on a fallen log, patting the space beside him.

“Can I ask you something?” he said as I sat down.

I nodded, bracing myself. With Saif, you never knew what was coming next.

“What makes you happiest?” he asked, his dark eyes serious.

I blinked, caught off guard. “I… what?”

“What makes you happiest?” he repeated. “You light up when you’re learning something new, but is that what really makes you happy?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Trust Saif to ask the hard questions.

He was a philosopher at heart, always thinking about the greater implications of human nature. I liked that about him.

“I… I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Flying, maybe? Being out among the stars, charting my own course…”

Saif nodded, a soft smile on his face. “I can see that. Daughter of a shipping magnate.”

I nodded and did my best to not give anything away.

“That sounds amazing. I hope you get to do that someday.”

“What about you?” I asked, curious despite myself. “What makes you happiest?”

“My family,” Saif said without hesitation. “My art. And moments like this — connecting with people, learning new things, being surrounded by nature.”

As if to emphasize his point, a cool breeze rustled through the clearing, carrying the sweet scent of wildflowers. I closed my eyes, letting the peaceful moment wash over me. It was… nice. Really fucking nice.

When I opened them again, I found Saif watching me, a look of quiet wonder on his face. Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a skittish animal, he reached out and took my hand.

My breath caught in my throat. His hand was warm, slightly calloused from our day of work. It felt… right, somehow. Safe. What the hell was happening to me?

“Is this okay?” Saif asked softly.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. A warm feeling bloomed in my chest, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Is this what it felt like to be cared for? To be seen as more than just a duty or an obligation?

We sat like that for a long moment, hand in hand, the forest alive around us. I knew it couldn’t last — soon we’d have to return to the group, to our separate lives. But for now, in this quiet clearing, I allowed myself to imagine a different kind of future. One where moments like this weren’t so rare and precious.

“You know,” Saif said, breaking the silence, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to mask my nervousness with sarcasm. “What, hold my hand? Didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”

He chuckled, squeezing my hand gently. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Oh yeah?” I challenged. “Try me.”

Saif’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Okay, here’s one: I’ve had a crush on you since our first far-school session together.”

I felt my jaw drop. “What? But that was… that was years ago!”

He shrugged. “What can I say? You made quite an impression. Not every day you meet a girl who can recite the entire periodic table while doing a handstand.”

I groaned, covering my face with my free hand. “Oh god, I’d almost managed to forget about that dare.”

“I thought it was impressive,” Saif said, gently pulling my hand away from my face. “Still do, actually.”

I looked at him, really looked at him. The warmth in his eyes, the sincerity in his smile. For once in my life, I decided to take a risk that had nothing to do with flying or academics.

“Hey, Saif?” I said, my heart pounding.

“Yeah?”

“I might have had a crush on you too. Since, you know, that first session.”

His smile could have outshone a supernova. “Yeah?”

I nodded, feeling oddly vulnerable and exhilarated at the same time. “Yeah.”

Saif leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. “Skylar Kawabata, you continue to amaze me.”

“Shut up and kiss me already,” I muttered.

And he did.

It was my first kiss, and it was soft and sweet and a little awkward, but it was perfect. When we pulled apart, I couldn’t stop the giddy laugh that bubbled up from my chest.

“We should head back,” Saif said finally, though he made no move to let go of my hand.

“Yeah,” I agreed, equally reluctant.

As we stood, he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Thanks for being my partner today.”

I felt a smile — a real, genuine smile — spread across my face. “No, thank you.”

We walked back to the camp, still hand in hand, both acutely aware that our time together was limited. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of more lessons and team-building exercises, but my mind kept drifting back to that moment in the clearing.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the trees, the instructor gathered everyone around the campfire. “Great work today, everyone,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’ll put your new skills to the test with an overnight solo camping exercise.”

A mix of excited chatter and nervous murmurs rippled through the group. I felt a flutter of anticipation in my stomach. A chance to prove myself, to show that I could survive on my own.

I glanced at Saif, who caught my eye and grinned. “Scared?” he mouthed teasingly.

I shook my head, smirking back. “You wish,” I mouthed in return.

As we all settled in for dinner around the campfire, I found myself wedged between Saif and another girl from the group. The night was filled with the warmth of the fire and the camaraderie of shared experience. The laughter. The teasing. The roasted marshmallows and hot chocolate.

Saif’s hand found mine again, hidden between us. I intertwined our fingers, marveling at how natural it felt.

That night, as I lay in my sleeping bag listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the forest, I replayed the day’s events in my mind. The feeling of Saif’s hand in mine, the sound of his laugh, the way he looked at me like I was something special.

For the first time in my life, I fell asleep with a smile on my face, my dreams filled with endless forests and a boy with kind eyes and a gentle touch.

My eyes jerk open as the parachute snaps in the wind.

The memory fades for a moment, and I find myself back in the harsh reality of the desert, a stark contrast to the quiet forest of my dream. Kalvin’s hand is still in mine, a lifeline, an anchor to reality.

For a moment, just before sleep reclaims me, I allow myself to remember that feeling from so long ago. The warmth, the connection, the possibility of something more. And I wonder, with a mix of hope and fear, if maybe — just maybe — I might find it again.

Fuck. When did I become such a sap?