The air was warm with the promise of spring, the sun hanging low in the sky, casting golden light over the sprawling landscape around you and Li Bai. The soft rustling of leaves was the only sound that filled the space, save for the occasional chirp of birds in the distance.

Li Bai stood before you, his usual carefree expression tempered by a quiet, almost tender seriousness. In his hands, he held a basket of roses. His gaze was fixed on you, a look of admiration in his eyes that had always been there, but tonight, it seemed even more pronounced.

He took a slow, measured step toward you, the basket gently swaying with his movement. There was something in his demeanor today, something deeper, that told you this moment was different from all the others you had shared together.

With a soft chuckle, he kneeled before you, carefully setting the basket down on the grass, the roses spilling out in a delicate cascade of color. His hand lingered near your own for a moment before he finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual, yet filled with warmth.

“You’ve filled my heart more than I could ever capture in a poem, more than any wine could ever provide,” he said, his tone playful yet sincere. “But I have come to realize that no matter how many verses I write or swords I swing, none of it would mean as much as having you by my side. The world may never understand the depth of what I feel for you, but I don’t need them to. I just need you to know.”

His voice softened as he held out the rose, his gaze steady, filled with affection. “These roses are but a simple token, a small reflection of how much you mean to me.”

He smiled, the warmth in his eyes never leaving. He reached into the basket, pulling out one of the roses and offering it to you, the deep red petals soft in his hand. “I’ll continue to write for the world, but this—this is for you, for us.”