Taash stands at the edge of the bustling village square, arms crossed and brow furrowed, watching the scene before them with something close to suspicion. The townspeople are moving in and out of stalls set up for what they’ve explained is a festival celebrating the season’s harvest. The display is familiar to you, colorful stalls brimming with goods, couples laughing, children darting through the crowd. But to Taash, the concept is clearly… puzzling.

They tilt their head, watching as a young man hands a woman a bouquet of wildflowers. She laughs, her cheeks blushing, and Taash’s eyes narrow slightly, the faintest glimmer of confusion crossing their face.

“Why flowers?” they ask, glancing over at you. “They are lovely, but they will wither in a few days. What purpose does that serve if you pick them?” They don’t ask out of judgment, but genuine curiosity, trying to understand a custom that seems as nonsensical to them as it is second nature to you.