Watching You Burn In Regret novel Chapter 147

Ever since that accidental kiss with Lennon, Seren had been adrift, her thoughts swirling restlessly. Even after the fireworks show ended, her mind was still hazy, and she let Lennon lead her by the hand through the crowd.

Lennon, on the other hand, was as calm and composed as ever—if anything, he seemed even more cheerful. Every so often, he'd murmur something to her, little remarks like, "The night's beautiful, isn't it?" as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

When they passed a stall selling glowing lanterns, Lennon's voice turned soft and warm. "Want me to buy you one?" he asked.

Most of the young women who walked by couldn't resist picking out a lantern for themselves; after all, there's something irresistible about pretty, glowing things at night. Seren liked them too, but deep down, she always felt they were a little too childish for her age.

She shook her head. "I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm past the age for things like that."

Lennon laughed gently, ruffling her soft hair with a touch of fondness. "You're still young, Seren. Twenty-three isn't old—and even at thirty-two, you can still love beautiful things."

His words triggered a memory—last night, when Seren had fallen asleep, her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek nestled unconsciously against him, breathing softly. In that moment, she'd seemed so childlike, so vulnerable, as if she needed someone to lean on.

But most of the time, Seren was composed and self-sufficient, carrying herself with the poise of someone much older than her twenty-something years. She faced everything head-on, never asking for help.

Even so—"Even at thirty-two, you can still love beautiful things."

Seren's thoughts drifted. There was a time when she'd loved these little girlish things. When had that changed? When had she started resisting the urge to reach out for them, even if they still called to her?

She thought back and found the answer.

It was when she was in middle school. Her family had gone on a trip together, and in the tourist village she'd spotted a vendor selling pastel balloons—soft, dreamy colors, floating in the air, exactly the kind of thing any girl would fall in love with at first sight. She had.

Her first instinct was to ask Zena. But Zena barely glanced at the balloons, her brows knitting in disapproval. "What's the point of buying those? You'll play with them for a minute, then they'll just clutter up the house."

So Seren turned to Swain, but he dismissed her without hesitation. "Aren't you a bit old for that? You're in middle school—those are for little kids."

Slater chimed in, his tone laced with mockery. "Time to start acting your age, Seren. Don't be such a baby all the time."

One rebuff after another—Seren gave up asking. But as they walked away, she kept glancing back, unable to tear her eyes from those colorful, drifting balloons.

A little while later, Carla—the youngest—went to Swain and asked for a balloon. Without a second thought, Swain bought her a whole bunch. Zena didn't say a word, just watched Carla with a gentle smile.

Seren couldn't hold back her frustration. She asked Swain why Carla could have balloons, but she couldn't.

"Carla's younger than you," he said matter-of-factly. "You're her big sister."

Slater added, with a smirk, "Why do you always compare yourself to Carla?"

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