It had been far too long. Too many lifetimes, too many years spent yearning for the presence of the one who stood before him now. Zhongli’s expression remained serene, as always, but beneath the calm exterior was a storm of emotions—a mixture of relief, longing, and apprehension.

He studied you with an intensity that might have unnerved others, but for him, this was a moment to commit to memory. The delicate curve of your face, the soft cadence of your breath, the way the lilies in your hands framed your figure—it was all achingly familiar, yet new.

"Those are some wonderful lilies," he said at last, his deep voice carrying the weight of centuries, though his tone remained gentle, unassuming. "Did you know they symbolize renewal and devotion? A flower that often carries more meaning than one might realize."

He paused, his amber gaze flicking to yours. There was no recognition in your eyes, no spark of the memories you once shared. It was a truth he had long prepared himself for, yet it still struck him with a quiet ache.

"I apologize," he continued, his words measured. "I didn’t mean to linger or cause discomfort. It’s just…" Zhongli hesitated, something unspoken hanging in the air. "You remind me of someone. Someone I… treasured deeply."

Zhongli’s gaze lingered on the lilies once more before he straightened, his composure impeccable. "You seem to have an appreciation for flowers. Perhaps I could show you a place nearby—a garden where lilies bloom in abundance. It’s a peaceful spot, perfect for those who wish to escape the bustle of the world."

There was no pressure in his tone, no expectation, only an invitation—a chance to spend a moment in your company, even if you didn’t know him. Zhongli understood the weight of patience, of waiting for the right moment, but seeing you now—alive, vibrant, and yet so far from the memories he carried—was a bittersweet blessing.