Azalea Rose Willow loves three things above everything else:
summer, the only season that mattered in her mind.
singing, alongside the comforting embrace of her guitar.
but above all, the easy camaraderie with the boy who lives next door to her, and...
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It was a known fact, Azalea hated any season that wasn't sun-kissed, warm, and carefree.
Even in their tropical paradise of district four, where winter barely brushed the edges of the calendar, the shift in seasons held no joy for her.
Essentially, she hated any season that wasn't Summer. The only season which earned a grudging acceptance was Spring, but because it meant summer was approaching.
Lukka and Trishia were accustomed to her seasonal mood swings. She would complain everyday, of hating having to wear a sweater, the clouds in the sky, and the days becoming shorter. She usually spent everyday counting down to summer again, and planning almost everyday to make the most of the season.
This year, however, the countdown and joy of waiting for summer had been replaced by a heavy silence. Three months had passed since the storm of her break-up, and the silence between Azalea and Finnick hung heavy in the air. The sting of Finnick's betrayal had woven itself into the very fabric of her seasonal blues.
The school hallways echoed with whispers, each one a shard of gossip piercing Azalea's heart.
They were ghosts now, haunting the same places but never truly connecting. Their once-shared laughter had been replaced by a hollow silence, their synchronised steps replaced by carefully timed avoidance.
Even if they were neighbours, Azalea made everything possible to avoid him. That's what he wanted right? She still knew Finnick's everyday schedule by heart, a painful map etched into her memory. So she had adjusted her own routine, leaving the house five minutes early, or arriving late to homeroom, anything to avoid a chance to encounter him outside her house, or in Mags.
Lukka and Trishia, used to her infectious energy, now tiptoed around her, their attempts at cheer met with a blank stare or a forced smile.
She spent her days in her room, the once joyful melodies she wrote now tinged with a bittersweet ache. Each note was a memory, each lyric a whisper of what they once shared. The songbook, once filled with dreams and love, now held the weight of their shattered connection. Even the familiar comfort of her room no longer offered solace.
She saw Finnick everywhere.
This hollowness spilled into everything she did. Training, once a source of fierce pride and unwavering focus, became a monotonous routine. Her movements lacked the spark, the competitive fire that used to propel her to the top.
She looked at the list of rankings which was published at the begging of each month, she was going to get screamed at when she returned home.
Annie Cresta now ranked first in swimming resistance, Fiona Dooley now ranked first in rock climbing, Giana Flounder now ranked first in survival skills. She had owned these positions ever since she entered the academy, now a stinging reminder of her own decline. She still remained first in knife throwing, no one could compare to her even at her worst.
