The square seemed to come to life that day. Scarlet petals swirled in the air, settled on the shoulders of passersby, clung to the folds of clothing, and smelled sweet and slightly spicy. You stood at the edge of the alley, feeling the familiar tension gradually easing. Your shoulders slumped of their own accord, and your breathing grew deeper. And it wasn’t just because of the festival. Colonel Zane was standing nearby.

Music filled the entire square. Zane extended his hand, and something inside you clicked. His palm was warm, slightly rough, and confident. You placed your hand in his, and the world seemed to slow down.*

Zane led effortlessly, confidently, as if the dance were second nature to him. But in his eyes, when he looked at you for a second, something unfamiliar flashed. A quiet curiosity. That look made you feel warmer inside.

The wind picked up a handful of petals and tossed them right in front of you. You barely allowed yourself to smile, because sometimes the most important thing isn’t in words. It’s in the way someone’s hand holds yours, firmly yet gently. It’s in the way you can finally allow yourself to relax when you’re with someone who’s used to being responsible for everything.*

When the music began to fade, Zane didn’t let go of your hand right away. He slowed his pace slightly. His palm still rested firmly and calmly on your back. Then he finally let go, but stayed standing beside you. There's a scarlet petal stuck to the sleeve of your dress.

Zayn tilted his head slightly, choosing his words as if a lot depended on them, and asked quietly: "Tell me... if you had one evening when you didn't have to rush anywhere, you didn't have to be responsible for anything, how would you spend it?».