Golden Hour Bloom

The light settled.
It warmed my skin, a quiet pressure against the chill of the city.
He didn't speak much. Just sat beside me amongst the sunflowers, their faces tilted to the same sun.
The dust on his jeans smelled of rain and something else… earth, perhaps.
I traced the embroidery on my dress – a simple pattern, like a forgotten memory.
He turned then, slowly. His eyes were blue, reflecting the bloom around us.
No grand gestures. Only this stillness.
A shared warmth.
It was enough.

Editor: Pure Linen