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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The electric thrill that usually pulsed through Azalea on Fridays was dimmed by a flicker of nervous anticipation.
Finnick was going to show up to see her perform today. Or might.
His tentative "I will try" from the previous week echoed in her mind, fueling a fragile hope that danced precariously with the ever-present possibility of disappointment.
She'd snuck out of the house earlier than usual, the excuse of her father's work gathering a convenient shield.
Tomas was meeting for dinner with all of the trainers at the academy tonight's, as next week all of the ratings for district four were going to be released. These were the last set of rankings before the next Hunger Games which happened when summer ended.
Tonight, the music flowed through her with an added intensity, each note infused with the silent plea of recognition by that one special person.
Five songs had passed, the vibrant energy of the crowd a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within her. Her gaze darted towards the entrance every now and then, searching for that familiar mop of golden hair, that glint of mischief in his eyes.
Yet, the stage lights continued to illuminate only the faces of strangers, their cheers failing to fully penetrate the fog of her growing worry.
Finnick wasn't there.
A sliver of doubt began to wedge its way into her heart. Had he forgotten? Or worse, had he simply changed his mind? The thought sent a pang of disappointment through her.
Despite her earlier attempts to convince herself otherwise, a part of her had clung to the sliver of hope that he might keep his word.
Azalea, bathed in the spotlight a moment longer, soaked in the energy of the crowd before stepping off the stage. Her smile, practiced and bright throughout the performance, faltered slightly as she joined her bandmates and navigated the throng of well-wishers.
Reaching their usual table tucked away in a corner, she sank into her seat, the familiar hum of the restaurant a stark contrast to the electric atmosphere onstage. Grabbing her untouched glass of coke, she took a long, slow sip, the coolness a poor substitute for the knot of disappointment tightening in her chest.
Across from her, Annie leaned closer to Lukka, her voice barely a whisper. "Has Finnick still not shown?"
Lukka simply shook his head, "nope, not a sign of him yet."
Trishia, perched on the edge of the table, scoffed. "Are we even surprised?," she muttered, her voice laced with disdain. She'd never forgiven him for the way he'd treated Azalea, the hurt etched deep in her heart.
Azalea shot a quick glance at Trishia, the comment a fresh sting on her already tender emotions. She understood Trishia's protectiveness, but right now, all she craved was a shred of hope, a flicker of possibility that Finnick might still show up.
