His Silent Luna (Verity and Felicity) novel Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN: BABY STEPS

Verity’s Perspective

The courtyard lay quiet, wrapped in a serene stillness that felt more like a gentle embrace than a warning. It was the kind of peace that promised safety rather than danger. I followed Caleb outside, the sun’s warmth brushing my skin softly, like a tender kiss from the afternoon light. As I lifted my eyes to the clear blue sky, a small, involuntary smile spread across my lips. This moment felt different. Fresh. New.

We found ourselves beneath a sprawling tree, its leaves rustling softly in the light breeze. I didn’t know the tree’s name, but I couldn’t help but gaze upward, intrigued by its graceful branches. My eyes traced the way its roots wove through the earth like an intricate web—steady, resilient, unyielding.

“That’s an Elm,” Caleb said suddenly, his voice cutting through my thoughts with calm certainty. “An old one, too. Probably been here longer than any of us.”

I turned to look at him, nodding slowly as I repeated the word silently in my mind. Elm. It sounded solid, dependable—just like the tree itself.

Caleb set down the worn leather satchel beside him and pulled out a stack of thick, bound pages along with a pencil. It was nothing like the dusty scrolls the Rogues used, those harsh documents filled with rigid laws and cruel words that had once pounded in my head.

Leaning back against the tree trunk, he motioned for me to sit beside him. “Before we begin, I want to explain what we’ll cover.”

I settled down cross-legged on the soft grass, feeling the blades tickle my legs. Caleb’s gaze held that familiar, unreadable expression—neither cold nor warm, but cautious, like he was trying not to overwhelm me.

“We’ll start with the alphabet,” he said simply. “Twenty-six letters. First, you’ll learn to recognize them. Then, we’ll practice writing—the shapes and strokes. After that, we’ll move on to basic words and short sentences.”

I nodded eagerly, anticipation bubbling inside me.

“No need to worry about pronunciation yet,” he added with a faint smile. “It’s not necessary right now. We’ll use flashcards, pictures, gestures—whatever helps you connect the words with their meanings.”

He flipped open the notebook to a blank page and carefully wrote the letters A, B, and C, spacing them slowly and clearly. His pencil moved with confident ease, fingers steady and practiced.

I leaned in closer, my eyes drinking in each letter like water, memorizing their shapes.

“We’ll take it slow,” Caleb assured me. “No rush. I’m not here to test you. I’m here to help you learn.”

His words unlocked something inside me—a release of tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying. It felt like I could finally breathe without fear. Like this wasn’t a trap. Like he genuinely meant what he said.

He tapped the first letter. “A.”

I stared at it. A. It resembled a tiny mountain peak. I traced the shape with my finger in the air. He nodded approvingly.

“B.”

Two bubbles stacked one on top of the other. I mimicked the shape again.

Then “C”—curved like a crescent moon.

We moved through the letters one by one. He wrote, and I traced the shapes with my fingers. Occasionally, he sketched a simple picture beside a letter—A for apple, B for bird, C for cat. The drawings were rough, almost childlike, but they made me smile.

He caught the smile. “You like cats?”

I blinked, then nodded. There was a small cat in the rogue camp that used to keep us company. It was soft and gentle.

A flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of Caleb’s mouth. “Good to know.”

Minutes slipped by unnoticed. My fingers began to cramp slightly from tracing so many letters in the air.

“Want to try writing them?” he asked, holding out the pencil.

I hesitated. My fingers twitched nervously. I’d never been allowed to hold a writing tool before. I was a curse, unworthy of education.

He smiled, as if he already knew but was pleased I said it aloud.

“Verity,” he repeated softly. “It means truth.”

My heart fluttered unexpectedly. I wasn’t sure why, but hearing him say my name—just like Cassian had—sent a strange twist through my belly.

Caleb didn’t push me further. When I began to slow, blinking harder, my hand growing tired, he closed the notebook and slipped it back into the satchel.

“That’s enough for today,” he said gently. “You did really well.”

I nodded, exhausted but quietly satisfied.

The wind stirred the elm’s leaves above us, and I tilted my head back, letting the sunlight wash over my face. I’d never sat beneath a tree like this before. Never felt the breeze on my bare arms while someone patiently taught me letters. Never imagined learning could feel so safe, so thrilling—like uncovering pieces of myself I didn’t know existed.

Caleb stood and extended his hand to help me up.

I took it without hesitation.

We walked back toward the castle in silence. Words weren’t necessary. My chest felt light, my mind buzzing with letters, pictures, and the strange, sweet promise of possibility.

I could learn.

I was learning.

And maybe… just maybe… I was more than the past had shaped me to be.