Paper! Paperboy!

That night, Willem sat in the attic of Roland's bakery, chewing on a piece of bread and staring out the tiny window at the stars. Roland had offered him a proper bed downstairs, but Willem liked the attic—it was quiet, and he could think.

"She called me clumsy," he muttered to himself, biting into the bread. "And stubborn. And weird."

He paused, then grinned. "She's not wrong."

The memory of Elizabeth's laugh stuck with him. It wasn't like the forced chuckles he heard from townsfolk who pitied him. It was real, like she actually thought he was funny.

"Bet she doesn't meet many jokers in her fancy castle," he mused aloud.

Roland's voice floated up the stairs. "Willem! Are you talking to yourself again?"

"No!" Willem shouted back, then added under his breath, "Maybe."

He flopped back onto his makeshift bed, his grin fading into thoughtfulness. People like Elizabeth didn't belong in the same story as paperboys. But for some reason, their brief encounter had left him feeling… hopeful.

"Just a weird day," he told himself. "Tomorrow it's back to papers and bread and running errands."

Still, as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just met someone who might change everything.