Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

At the very end of the winding mountain road, the old temple waited, perched at the highest point.

There were still a thousand steps to climb, but with Dylan in his wheelchair, that wasn't happening.

Mrs. Ferguson bent down, her voice gentle but firm. “You take the elevator, Dylan. Tara and I will walk the stairs."

Tara stood quietly in front of her, eyes downcast, not arguing.

Guided by a monk, Dylan wheeled himself toward the side entrance.

The monastery's elevator was rarely used-built years ago by some rich family from the Capital, just for people who couldn't make the climb.

Some people believed so deeply that, even when life had worn them down and their bodies gave out, they still dragged themselves here to pray.

Dylan never understood it. He didn't believe in any of it.

He glanced up, watching Mrs. Ferguson already starting up the steps, then let his gaze fall, fiddling with the ring on his finger.

The elevator had a little window, and through it he could see rolling green hills, bright water, and trees covered with blush-pink peach blossoms.

It was only up here, in the mountain quiet, that he realized spring had really arrived.

When he got to the top, he asked the attendant nearby, "Can we pick those flowers?"

The monk nodded. "Of course. Those blossoms are for our guests. The higher up you pick, the better the luck."

"What kind of luck?" Dylan asked, sounding bored.

"Peach blossoms mean destined love," the monk answered. "Finding the one you're meant to be with."

Dylan didn't say anything, so the monk added, "It's best if you pick them early in the morning. That's when the blessings are strongest.”

Dylan just made a noncommittal sound, letting the conversation drop.

Mrs. Ferguson planned to spend the night at the monastery. The rooms were notoriously hard to book; she wanted to be up at dawn for morning prayers-proof of her devotion.

She was talking with the abbot when she noticed Tara kneeling, deeply focused on her prayers.

Tara stared up at the gentle face of the Buddha and made her wish over and over, silently begging to be with Dylan forever.

When she finished, she put all the cash she'd brought into the donation box.

Every year the wealthy families from the Capital sent big donations to this temple and Tara was no exception. She always felt the more money she gave, the more likely her wish would come true.

The abbot led them to dinner. Mrs. Ferguson glanced around. "Where's Dylan?”

Tara rinsed her chopsticks and answered quietly, "I heard he hasn't been feeling well. He's probably tired and went to bed early."

Mrs. Ferguson let out a long sigh. "Is it really his health, or did Clara upset him again? She runs off, then comes back like nothing happened. All she does is make trouble."

Tara's lips curted into a small, almost mocking smile. “You were young once too, Mrs. Ferguson. Sometimes people just keep testing if someone really cares about them, and end up doing a lot of stupid things."

In her eyes, Clara's running away was just another way to test Dylan's patience-

a calculated move, really.

But Dylan, still lost in his own thoughts, hadn't figured it out yet.

Tara wasn't interested in exposing it. Sooner or later, Dylan would realize who really fit by his side.

Meanwhile, Dylan sat alone in his

small room, a cup of mountain tea untouched in front of him. He opened the window, letting the cool air brush against his face as he looked out at the view.

The only reason he'd come here today was to get away from Palm Bay and all its mess. Maybe Clara just needed time. Maybe, after a few days, she'd calm down and see things clearly.noveldrama

Years ago, the abbot had called him a "star-crossed soul," like one sentence could erase a person's whole life. Dylan had never really liked this place.