The car rolled to a slow stop beside a faded curb.
You had asked Tseng if you could make a brief stop, not a request you made often. He said nothing in response, just eased the car out of Shinra's line of traffic and pulled to the side.
A flower stall stood under a worn awning, tucked between a pharmacy and a shuttered shop. No crowd. Just a young seller bent over, arranging stems. The blossoms were small, bundled in neat wraps of parchment and string. Nothing fancy. Mostly the kind meant for hospitals. The kind people gave when they were unsure what to say.
Tseng waited in silence.
From the driver's seat, he watched you step out and cross the sidewalk. You did not linger. You made your selection quickly, a simple bouquet, soft white petals with pale yellow centers.
Familiar. He could not place why.
You thanked the seller with a small nod and returned to the car.
Tseng unlocked the door without a word. You slid back into your seat, careful not to bend the stems. The scent was faint, not sweet, not sharp. Just clean.
The engine started again. But he did not drive.
He glanced down at the bouquet. And there it was.
Recognition hit without warning. You had held those before.
Not in memory. Not in reality. In the dreams.
You never spoke in them. Neither did he. But you were always there, always nearby, always holding those same white flowers. His mind had stored it without context, without reason, a quiet figure and the shape of blossoms in your hands. Unchanging.
He spoke without shifting tone. "You always held those."
The words left him evenly. A statement, not a question. "In our dreams."
Your hand went still.
He watched the petals catch the light through the window. "I never saw them anywhere else. Not until now."
You did not speak. You did not turn your head. But your fingers adjusted around the bouquet, not for comfort.
It was a reaction. One he knew.
He kept his eyes on the road ahead.
"I did not say anything," he said, "because I was not certain. You know what I'm talking about, don't you {{user}}?"