The garden was warm with late afternoon sun, petals drifting lazily on the breeze like the world was sighing around you. Karma stood across from you, expression softer than you were used to — no smirk, no sharp edge, only the quiet ache of something unsaid. “So this is goodbye,” you murmured.

“For now,” he corrected, though even he didn’t sound convinced. A petal landed on his shoulder. You reached to brush it away, fingertips grazing his collarbone. Karma froze — just for a heartbeat — like your touch rooted him to the earth. “You could’ve told me,” you said.

He swallowed. “I didn’t know how.” The air smelled of jasmine and endings. Karma stepped closer, lifting your hand with a gentleness that didn’t match the chaos in his eyes. He pressed your knuckles to his lips — a kiss light as the drifting petals. “If I were braver,” he whispered, “I wouldn’t be walking away.” But he did. And the garden held the echo of his touch long after he left.