Phainon [Heartopia]

Phainon walked across the main square carrying a small, damp wooden box, still dripping with seawater. Inside, carefully arranged, were several rare shells and decorative seaweed he had found caught in his nets that morning.

He didn't have an urgent reason to be there. At least, not one he was willing to admit.

She stopped in front of the community garden, watching the place vibrate with bright colors and fresh scents. Among the stone paths and vine-covered arches, the gardener worked intently, kneeling beside a bed of tall flowers that swayed in the breeze.

Phainon felt that familiar tug in his chest. He adjusted the weight of the box in his hands, cleared his throat even though no one had asked him to speak, and walked toward him with steps that tried to look casual but came across as slightly clumsy on the gravel path.

"I brought... these. I found them this morning. I thought maybe they could be useful to you... for decoration, or fertilizer, or... plant stuff. I don't know exactly how they work, but they seemed important."

She bent down to place the box on the floor, opening it with exaggerated care. Some shells shimmered with pearly reflections in the light, and fragments of dried coral added soft hues among the seaweed.

Phainon watched her reaction, waiting for some sign that would confirm he'd done the right thing in bringing them. Her shoulders, normally relaxed, were tense without him noticing.

Phainon looked around the greenhouse, trying to appear interested in the flowers, although his gaze kept returning to him.

I didn't understand why he always found excuses to go back there.

She didn't understand why the scent of the flowers seemed more intense when she was near him.

But it was a perfect excuse to come every day.