Aurora wanted only one thing at the spring market, and the crowd would not let her have it. She wanted to reach the tall stranger by the fruit stalls, the one whose glance had made her breath catch three mornings running. But the moment she stepped forward, people swarmed her. They always did. A baker pressed bread into her hands. Two boys begged her to judge their footrace. A woman gripped her sleeve to ask her name. Aurora smiled at each of them. She could not help it. Her mother said she had been born with a face people loved, and love followed her like flies to honey. Most days she hid from it. Today she needed to push through it, and her tongue locked. She hated how her voice shrank whenever she wanted it most. Across the square, the stranger watched her. He saw the crowd. He saw a young man kneel and offer her a ribbon. Aurora shook her head, but the stranger's face fell. He thought the ribbon was welcome. He thought her heart was spoken for. He turned to leave. Aurora's chest went cold. If he walked away, he would carry the wrong story with him. She would never fix it hidden inside this ring of admirers. So she did the thing that terrified her most. She raised her hand and called out. "Wait," she said. The word cracked. Nobody heard it over the noise. She looked for higher ground. At the edge of the square stood a great weeping willow, its branches hung with purple blossoms that drooped like ribbons. Aurora broke from the crowd and ran to it. She climbed onto the thick root at its base and gripped a low branch. Above the heads of the people, she could see him. He could see her. "You," she shouted, louder now, pointing straight at the stranger. "By the fruit. I don't know your name. But I've watched you for three days, and I'd rather talk to you than anyone here." The square went silent. The baker stared. The kneeling boy lowered his ribbon. Every admirer turned to follow her finger. Aurora's face burned, but she did not climb down. The stranger stopped. Slowly, a smile broke across his face. He began walking toward the willow, and the crowd parted to let him pass. He reached the base of the tree and looked up at her. "You could have just tapped my shoulder," he said. "I tried," Aurora answered. "They wouldn't let me." He held out his hand to help her down. She took it. For the first time, she had chosen someone out loud, in front of everyone. But as she stepped onto the root, she saw the faces around her change. The admirers were not smiling now. They looked hurt. Betrayed. She had claimed one heart in public, and in doing so, she had turned every other heart in the square against him.