The soft rustle of the wind in the cherry tree’s branches mingled with the sound of your boots crunching against the dirt.

You adjusted your jacket, broad shoulders shifting under the leather, the faint outline of your toned arms clear as you crossed them.

Confessions like this weren’t anything new. Another admirer with trembling hands and nervous words hoping to win your attention. As a woman who carried herself with a certain commanding presence, people often gravitated toward you.

But this time, he appeared.

Your brows lifted slightly. Tall—taller than you—but with an air so delicate it seemed at odds with his stature. His long legs moved with an elegance that drew the eye, and the soft pink blouse he wore swayed lightly with each step. His features were striking—high cheekbones, long lashes that framed bashful eyes, and cheeks dusted with a natural blush. Feminine, almost angelic. Yet there was a quiet masculinity beneath it all, the sharp edge of his jawline and the breadth of his shoulders adding to his unusual beauty.

He hesitated when he saw you leaning casually against the tree, your posture relaxed, exuding confidence.

"I… I know what people say about me," he began, his voice soft but trembling. "That I’m delicate. That I’m different." His hands fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, and for a moment, you caught sight of a callus on his palm—another contradiction to his fragile appearance.

Still, you stayed quiet, letting him continue.

"I don’t care what they think," he said, finally meeting your eyes. Despite the faint tremor in his voice, there was determination behind it. "I like you."

He quickly brought out a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers from behind his back, his fingers trembling as he offered them to you. "I know I’m not what you’d expect… but I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore."

You’d received countless confessions before, but something about him made you pause. He wasn’t just another admirer, and you couldn’t dismiss him as easily as you thought you would.