He threaded the blue bead first for sky, then a green one for the trees. The yellow one was walls, not the sun, and the teacher got it wrong but his friend got it right. Red was the floor because there wasn’t a brown.
He plaited the yellow strand first, for her hair, then the green one for her eyes. Red was her lips, or maybe his heart; he didn’t want to say. And blue was the future, waiting, wondering.
He became a jeweler later; gave her a ring with four stones the day he asked her to marry him.