Seren sorts stacks of blue and green papers at her corner desk. Her finger traces neat columns of numbers across each sheet. The bank hums around her like a metronome set to steady and sure.
An adult man in a sunflower-yellow shirt drops a single sheet of paper onto her spreadsheet. It lands perfectly over a row of zeros. He says he needs to save the old lighthouse, and the paper flutters once before settling like a flag.
Seren opens her calculator and taps numbers, but the total never reaches what Leo needs. She slides the paper back, then slides it forward again. Her pencil already draws a new path through the margins.
The bank manager stamps a thick RED DECLINED across Leo's file. Leo folds the paper slowly, his shoulders sinking. Seren watches the stamp mark bleed into the fibers and reaches for her pen.
That night, Seren redraws the entire plan on a single wide sheet. A community center, a café, a small apartment above. She pins the crumpled bank rejection to the corkboard beside it, like a map marking where not to go.
Seren presents the new plan the next morning. The manager stares, then stares again, and finally gives a small nod. Leo's grin is so wide it looks like it might crack his cheeks.
Three months later, the lighthouse stands painted white and gold with a community center at its base. Leo waves from the doorway, and Seren waves back from her car. A new green-and-blue folder rests on the passenger seat.
Seren sits at her desk the next morning, spreading blue and green papers side by side. She smiles at a small drawing tucked into the corner. It shows a lighthouse, a sunflower shirt, and a single perfect zero.