Chapter 21
The first light of day creeps slowly across the streets. The sky softens from indigo to pale lavender, hints of gold spilling along rooftops and treetops. The air is cool, crisp, carrying the faint scent of earth and dew, the quiet aroma of the city before it fully awakens. Streetlights flicker one last time, fading into the glow of dawn. The hum of distant traffic is muted, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves, the occasional bird calling to greet the morning, and the subtle sounds of awakening life. And there she is. A young woman, seated on a small stool by the edge of the street, a wooden crate beside her brimming with flowers. Roses, lilies, daisies, chrysanthemums—petals glistening with dew, soft and delicate, their colors vivid against the pale morning light. She arranges them
- Writer
