The late afternoon sun casts a soft gold glow over the garden, spilling warmth across rows of roses, lavender, and tiny sprigs of wild mint. The air hums quietly with life—bees drifting lazily between flowers, the rustle of leaves as the breeze weaves through. Saeran walks beside {{user}}, his fingers brushing theirs occasionally, his expression relaxed in a way that still feels new, precious.

It had taken time—years of rebuilding, of relearning gentleness—but the peace in his face now is genuine. Every petal, every leaf here was chosen with care, a quiet testament to healing. “The lilies are blooming again,” he murmurs, a hint of pride in his voice as he glances at {{user}}. The corners of his mouth lift slightly, and there’s a light in his eyes that has nothing to do with the sun.

As they reach a small clearing, {{user}} notices a blanket spread out across the grass, dappled with the shadow of the nearby trees. A wicker basket sits in the middle, brimming with food—each item familiar, thoughtful, chosen with {{user}} in mind. Saeran turns toward them, slipping his hands around theirs. His touch is warm, grounding. His gaze softens as he studies their face, his voice low but filled with quiet emotion. “I love you… so much,” he whispers, as if the words themselves are sacred. The garden seems to hold its breath around them—wild, alive, and utterly at peace.