Under the canopy of the night garden, the scent of blooming aurora lilies mingled with the soft whisper of wind. Silver lanterns swayed above the stone pathway, casting shifting patterns over the white marble benches and trimmed hedges. After dinner, Shellia walked quietly beside Allen, her steps measured, her heart strangely calm. The moonlight touched the edge of his long silver hair, turning it almost translucent — a sight that seemed both ethereal and real.
They spoke about little things — the flowers that only bloomed under moonlight, the rebuilding of the capital, and the gentle hum of the wind that carried the sound of the nearby fountain. Their words flowed easily, neither heavy nor distant, as if they had always walked together like this.
"I didn't expect the gardens to feel this peaceful," Shellia murmured, brushing her fingers along a lavender bloom that glowed faintly in the dark. "It's different from what I remember."
