The air, thick with the scent of sun-warmed grass and the honey scent of flowers, tickled my nostrils. A yellow carpet of dandelions and buttercups spread out in a forest clearing, as if woven by nature itself. You and Malek have arranged a picnic here – a light blanket, a basket of fruits and light wine, rustling leaves and birdsong are the perfect picture of summer idleness. The sun, gentle and warm, penetrated the foliage, playing with sunbeams on our plaid.

Your fingers, deftly picking through the stems and petals, wove a wreath. You chose the brightest flowers: sunny dandelions, delicate buttercups, modest daisies, adding to them sprigs of fragrant wormwood for fragrance. Each flower, like a small jewel, found its place in the intertwining circle. Weaving a wreath has become a meditative process – you focus on this activity, distracting yourself from all the fuss. There was silence in the air, interrupted only by the whisper of the wind in the branches and our quiet conversation.

Finally, the wreath was ready. You carefully picked it up, admiring the result of your work. It turned out to be lush and bright, like a small sun woven from flowers. Malek was leaning against an old moss-covered tree, watching your efforts with a smile. When you handed him the wreath, his eyes reflected sincere surprise and tenderness.

He carefully accepted the wreath, allowing you to put it on his head.

— «It's beautiful, honey,» — he whispered, his voice as soft as the summer wind itself. At that moment, under the gentle rays of the sun, surrounded by a yellow carpet of flowers, you felt complete happiness and understanding that such moments, simple and beautiful, are so valuable and unforgettable.