The garden woke before the city. The night's coolness still lingered in the air, and the first rays of sunlight spread across beds of marigolds, zinnias, jasmine, cosmos, and lantanas. An elderly gardener unlocked the gate every morning at the same hour. He watered the plants, swept away fallen leaves, and greeted the regular visitors with a quiet nod. To him, every day in the garden began the same way. Yet no two mornings were ever alike.
He first noticed the young man because he always arrived after the sun had warmed the flowers. He never hurried along the pathways or glanced at the people around him. Instead, he wandered from one bed of blossoms to another, stopping wherever the colors were brightest.
A few mornings later, a young lady began visiting the garden. She, too, ignored the walking track. Bright flowers seemed to draw her attention. She paused before them for a few moments before moving on.
Over the next few mornings, they crossed paths often. Without planning to, they found themselves drawn to the same flowers. One morning, they reached a cluster of yellow cosmoses at the same time.
At first, they exchanged nothing more than a smile. Then came a nod of recognition. Soon, each morning felt incomplete until they had seen the other.
One morning, they reached a cluster of yellow cosmoses at the same time.
"I think we keep getting in each other's way," she said.
He smiled. "Maybe they chose us."
The garden was large, yet it always seemed to bring them to the same flowers.
They met again the next morning. And the morning after that.
Then on they explored the garden together.
They rarely followed the pathways. The flower beds drew them instead. Some mornings they lingered among the marigolds. On others, the lantanas held their attention. She always returned to the yellow blooms. He never overlooked the tiny purple flowers tucked between the larger blooms.
"You always choose the small ones," she said.
"They're easy to miss."
"But you don't."
He smiled.
"Neither do you."
The old gardener often watched them from a distance. They never stopped near the benches or the tea stall outside the gate. The flowers seemed enough. Once the morning grew warm, they disappeared as quietly as they had arrived.
One day, the sky darkened without warning. A cool wind swept through the garden, and visitors hurried towards the shelter.
They found refuge beneath the broad leaf of a banana plant.
"I don't like rainy days," she said.
"Neither do I."
"I feel... trapped."
He looked beyond the falling rain.
"The sun will return."
She nodded, though she wasn't sure why his words comforted her.
They waited until the leaves stopped dripping. Only then did they step back into the open.
The next morning, she was already waiting beside the marigolds when he arrived. The flowers had only just begun to open, and the air still carried the scent of jasmine.
"You came early," he said.
"I couldn't wait."
He smiled.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
"Do you ever feel," she asked at last, "that this place knows us?"
He looked around the garden before answering.
"Perhaps we've always belonged here."
They stood together in comfortable silence. Around them, the old gardener watered the flower beds, and the morning breeze carried the fragrance of jasmine through the air.
The garden looked brighter than she had ever seen it. Every flower had opened to the warmth of the sun. The marigolds caught the morning light. The lantanas were covered with tiny blossoms.
They wandered through the places they had come to know without speaking much. They paused where they had first met. They lingered beside the marigolds.
A warm breeze crossed the garden.
He turned towards the sunlight. She followed without hesitation.
The old gardener looked up from his watering can.
Two butterflies rose from the marigolds. They circled each other once before disappearing beyond the trees.
The old man smiled. "They found each other."
