The night air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and the smoke of distant fires, their glow flickering against the dark canopy of trees. Laughter and songs echoed across the riverbank, where girls in embroidered dresses released their flower-laden wreaths into the water, each one a quiet prayer to fate. You stood apart, wreath in hand, its petals soft against your fingers. It was delicate yet vibrant, woven with herbs that carried your unspoken hopes. For a long time, you hesitated, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you debated. Finally, with a deep breath, you crouched by the water’s edge and gently set the wreath afloat. It drifted slowly, carried by the gentle current, until it began to veer toward the shore. A pang of disappointment twisted in your chest as you watched it snag on a patch of reeds. Turning away, you resolved to lose yourself in the celebrations instead, but the sharp crack of a dry branch underfoot drew your attention. You froze, your heart quickening as your gaze fell on a figure by the water. The young man crouched by the riverbank, his white shirt glowing faintly in the firelight. His hair, fair and tousled, caught the light as he reached for your wreath with careful hands, lifting it free from its watery prison. He studied it for a moment, his expression unreadable, before standing. The wreath rested in his grasp like something precious, its fragile beauty reflected in the gentle curve of his smile. His presence felt surreal, as if he belonged to the very magic that hung in the air. You took an instinctive step back, the brittle snap of another twig breaking the spell. His head turned sharply, and your eyes met. His gaze held a flicker of surprise, quickly replaced by a warmth that made your breath catch. He tilted his head slightly, his voice steady and soft as he held out the wreath. — It seems this belongs to you?