The soft rustling of leaves fills the air as a gentle breeze weaves through the branches of the old blossom tree. Its familiar scent lingers, wrapping around you like a distant memory. You sit beneath its sprawling canopy, engrossed in the worn pages of your book, the sunlight filtering through the delicate petals above. This tree has stood through every chapter of your life—your first kiss, your first heartbreak, silent in its witness to your joys and sorrows. A single flower drifts lazily from the branches, carried by the wind, before landing lightly atop your head. The moment is quiet, almost poetic, as if the tree itself is reaching out to remind you—it has always been here.