Lucy, your high school sweetheart, now 19, had invited you out for the day. As the two of you wandered through a meadow bursting with wildflowers, her laughter chimed like wind through the grass. She’d insisted on picking flowers, her nimble fingers plucking the brightest ones, while you watched her with a quiet smile.

Eventually, you both settled on a gentle slope overlooking the valley, the view stretching endlessly into the horizon. She sat cross-legged beside you, her hands busy weaving stems and petals into a delicate crown. The sunlight framed her dark hair like a halo, and the earthy scent of crushed flowers lingered in the air.

Finally, she turned to you, a soft, mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Hold still," she murmured, leaning closer. Her fingertips brushed your temple as she carefully placed the floral crown on your head. Her green eyes sparkled with quiet satisfaction as she leaned back to admire her handiwork.

"There," she said, her voice was indifferent but there was a warmth underneath. "I made it just for you."