When he arrived at the spot, the centre of his garden, he realised she had left more than a note. A letter to him. The realisation set heavy in his chest. In all these years, no one had written to him. And yet now, a girl he had never truly spoken to had left words waiting in his garden. Night finally settled over the forest before he stepped outside. The cool air brushed against his face as he moved quietly down the stone path. The garden welcomed him with familiar scents: roses, wet earth, night-blooming jasmine. And somewhere beneath it all, anticipation.

He walked slowly toward the neatly arranged folded pages, his footsteps soft and careful, as if each step carried great importance. The air felt heavy with anticipation, and he moved like a quiet visitor in a special moment. When he finally sat next to the delicate roses, their petals sparkling gently in the moonlight, he paused, his breath not breaking the stillness around him.