It was nearly 10 a.m., but no one had the energy to care.

  Mira knocked on Camille’s door first, letting herself in gently. Camille was sprawled on her bed, dramatically groaning like she had just survived a battlefield. “I might die,” she mumbled.

  “You say that every time,” Mira said with a smile, already heading to the little kitchenette to boil water. She brewed lemon tea, warm and sharp with honey, and made a simple breakfast—toast, soft-boiled eggs, a few slices of fruit. Camille, grateful and still slightly dizzy, leaned against the wall, sipping tea with a soft sigh.

  Not long after, the girls gathered in the lounge where the scent of baked goods filled the air. Naomi was there already, preparing a hearty breakfast for Luca, who was curled up on the couch with a pillow over his head.

  “You’re an angel,” Luca muttered, peeking out as Naomi set a plate beside him—steamed rice, eggs, soup. “And you made cake?”

  Naomi nodded with a shy smile. “For everyone.”

  The group slowly came together. The air was warm, friendly, filled with slow conversation and laughter as hangovers began to fade. The cake was lemon and poppy seed—light and soft, like the morning itself.

  Camille sat up straighter eventually and turned to Elara. “By the way, how’s your club? Need any backup? We’re fully mobilized now.”

  Elara gave a small, amused shake of her head. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. Just—if we have an event or a party, come. That’s enough.”

  “I like how you say ‘just a party’ like it’s not a trap,” Camille said, smirking. Mira chuckled.

  Then Luca, who had finally sat up, still rubbing his eyes, squinted. “Honestly, who is that Seraphina girl? All that drama and arrogance—what, is she the best student at the university?”

  “Probably not,” Mira said.

  “The richest?” Luca shrugged. “Doesn’t look it.”

  Camille grinned, resting her chin on her palm. “Compared to Elara? Please.”

  “She’s just a year older,” Luca added. “Nothing to brag about.”

  Mira nodded in agreement. “Anyway, if anything happens, just let us know. We’ve got you.”

  Meanwhile, Elias was sitting by the window, silently enjoying Naomi’s pastries, looking quite pleased with the morning. “By the way, Luca,” he said between bites, “how did you make it back to your room last night?”

  “Ohhh,” Elara chimed in, eyes twinkling. “I didn’t know you could speak Japanese and English at the same time. Very impressive.”

  Camille burst into laughter.

  “And guess who carried him back?” Elara added. “Vincent. You know, tall, handsome, absurdly polite movie club leader.”

  The group let out a collective “Oooooh.”

  “We should throw more parties just for Luca,” Camille teased.

  “I feel deeply offended,” Luca groaned, burying his face in a cushion again. “You all conspire against me.”

  Then he turned to Elias. “And you—where the hell were you last night? You disappeared like a ghost. We needed backup!”

  Elias looked up calmly, sipping his tea. “I was helping Naomi. And avoiding karaoke trauma.”

  Laughter rippled around the room again. The morning rolled on—slow, cozy, full of crumbs and warmth and the kind of ease that only comes when new friends begin to feel like a group.

  ?

  Mira was already seated in the greenhouse, completely absorbed in the macro photograph she had taken the other day. The ladybug’s tiny red wings looked so soft and bright up close that she couldn’t help leaning in, her fingertips brushing the screen as if the little creature might respond. Oh no, this was too cute. Her cheeks warmed as she pressed both hands lightly to the laptop, almost hugging it.

  A soft rustle of footsteps made her lift her head. Adrian entered, carrying his usual calm atmosphere, but his gaze went straight to her face, then to the screen. He caught the tail end of her smile.

  Mira straightened, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She gestured for him to join her.

  “Alright,” she said, her voice shifting into professional focus as she brought up the directory. “Here’s where we are and why we’re here.”

  She explained why the photo collection was far too large to upload in a simple dump, how navigating it would be overwhelming without structure.

  “I’ve used Gigle Lens to generate names for each species,” she continued, flipping through her neatly labeled folders. “I’ve roughly tagged them, but I’m not an expert, and auto-ID gets things wrong. That’s where you come in.”

  She leaned forward, closing the distance between them, fully focused. “We’ll go through them one by one. You confirm the name, and if there’s any key reference paper that links to it, we note that down. And if any of these species require caution—toxicity, fragility, or anything special—you flag it.”

  “Let’s begin,” she said, already clicking onto the first image.

  They sat shoulder to shoulder, a shared warmth radiating between them. Mira tilted the laptop so he could see, the screen becoming the sole focus of their world. At first, she navigated, clicking through images while reading out scientific names. Some flowed easily, but the complex Latin designations—winding and archaic—slowed her rhythm.

  She squinted at one particularly impossible name, typing it with hesitation, backspacing, then trying again.

  “Hand it over,” Adrian said, his voice calm and firm, right beside her ear. “I’ll work on it. This will be faster.”

  Mira blinked, turning to look at him. She had expected him to dictate; instead, he reached out. With one smooth motion, he slid the laptop from her hands to his, his fingers brushing the space she had just held.

  , she thought.

  She knew his intellect, of course. But sitting this close, watching him work, she felt the full weight of his capability. He scanned each name with ease, typing keynotes without a second of delay. It seemed as if every species, every paper, every biological detail existed neatly within his mind, ready for retrieval.

  The greenhouse settled into a comfortable intimacy, the only sound the rhythmic clatter of keys. Mira watched the screen, then glanced at his profile, captivated by the speed of his mind.

  Then, without warning, he spoke.

  "Every single detail is crystal clear," he said, his eyes still on the images. "Did it take a lot of time?"

  Mira was caught off guard. It took her a moment to process his question—she hadn’t expected him to ask about her work.

  “Since flash can harm rare species, I have to shoot when natural light is at its peak." She paused before adding, "Plus, I used the stacking method—a technique that layers multiple shots together to capture every detail."

  Adrian continued working, his focus unbroken. But there was a small shift in his expression, as if acknowledging her effort.

  Then, without looking up, he asked, "How are you planning to use this information?"

  "As you can see, we’re planning a digital portfolio—website, mobile apps—but I don’t think that will be enough. It’ll attract experts and students who already have an interest, but if we want real public attention, we need more."

  She paused, considering her words before continuing. "It has to feel friendly and engaging to normal people. Storytelling will help."

  Adrian kept typing, but the rhythm of his keystrokes seemed to invite her in. Mira leaned closer, her enthusiasm kindling. "We’ll write a story. An adventure into the world of rare plants, where each plant becomes a unique character. A fairy will be the guide, and the group—kids, secondary school students, high schoolers, maybe with their parents—will shrink to the size of the fairy and follow along through the forest. At each scene, they’ll encounter a new plant, learn its general information, and hear the fairy’s warnings—don’t get too close, don’t touch, be careful of something specific."

  Her words poured out, excitement layering into every sentence. The ideas stacked high, forming a vivid world in her mind, and for a moment, the greenhouse felt like a magical forest. Then she caught herself. She had been talking non-stop. Mira blinked, the reality of the room rushing back. She glanced at Adrian.

  "Do you think it will work?" she asked, suddenly more cautious.

  "New idea. But we’d need a pilot test with a small group to see how they react. Get their comments." his response came smoothly.

  He finished a line of text, then paused. He turned his head, looking directly into her eyes.

  "And why the fairy?"

  Her mind raced. To a scientist of his caliber, grounded in logic and reality, a fairy might seem trivial. Childish, perhaps.

  She hesitated, holding his gaze before answering. "Well… to tell the truth, it first comes from my personal interest." She let out a small breath and continued, "Secondly, a fairy is cute." She realized that sounded too similar to the first reason and quickly added, "Plus, they’re small. The idea of shrinking into a new world is spectacular—it creates that sense of surprise, a wow moment. It makes people feel thrilled, overwhelmed, impressed."

  She glanced at him, trying to read his reaction, but his face remained unreadable.

  "When they have a strong impression," she pressed on, "they’ll remember the plants more. And storytelling helps reinforce memory—technical terms are really hard for normal people."

  The silence between them felt heavy, charged with her sudden insecurity. She watched his profile, searching for a sign. For the first time in their meeting, the closeness made her feel unsure.

  Adrian continued, his voice steady as ever, though he turned slightly to face her. “The story needs illustrations. And drawing skills. Can you handle that?”

  Mira felt a small wave of relief wash over her, releasing the tension in her chest. He wasn’t rejecting it. He was engaging with it.

  “I’ll develop the idea and content,” Mira said quickly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “I already talked with Ren—his hobby is drawing manga, and he agreed to help.”

  She paused, a tickle catching in her throat. She sniffed. Then sneezed—once, twice, and again, small, helpless sounds that shattered the professional atmosphere.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Excuse me,” she muttered, blinking rapidly, her face flushing with embarrassment. “Ugh, sorry. Anyway. I’ll need your help too—to cross-check if my content in normal words matches the correct scientific meaning.”

  Before he answered, he reached into his pocket and, without a word, placed a small folded packet gently beside her hand—a movement so precise it felt as if he carried this specific object solely for this moment.

  She looked at it. Then at him.

  “…What’s this?”

  “Fermented yuzu and ginger,” he said. “You’re clearly catching something.”

  Mira blinked, startled.

  “Oh. I—thank you.”

  She stared at the little packet like it had materialized out of thin air. It was far more than a generic remedy. It was specific. The flavor—yuzu and ginger—felt strangely comforting, triggering a phantom memory she struggled to place. It was the exact thing she needed, delivered by someone who seemed to know her needs before she did.

  For a moment, Adrian said, “Let me know when you’re done.”

  Mira felt pride and excitement bubble up inside her. She clenched her fists, a genuine, unbidden smile breaking through. “Yes!”

  She looked past the screen, gathering her courage. The atmosphere felt right. She felt safe enough to go deeper.

  He paused his typing immediately. His hands rested on the keyboard. He turned his full attention to her. “What is it?”

  She hesitated, meeting his amber eyes. Then, softly: “The Fairy Tour is wonderful—it’ll draw people in. The aesthetic, the story. But I’ve been thinking a lot about what else we could do. Something that goes deeper.”

  She paused, choosing her words carefully, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “There are kids out there—especially in migrant communities, or places touched by conflict—who’ve faced things no one their age should. Trauma is… invisible. And so often ignored. Especially when they lack a diagnosis, support, or anyone to notice.”

  Adrian remained fixed. He listened. As she spoke, his focus deepened. He absorbed more than the data of her proposal; he watched her face with an intensity that bordered on familiarity.

  “I keep wondering—what if our work with plants could be more than just academic or visual?” she said, her voice trembling slightly with passion. “What if it could help people like them? What if we made something… meaningful?”

  Now he looked at her, truly seeing her. A shadow passed behind his eyes—a flicker of recognition, instantly masked.

  She continued, encouraged by his focus. “Imagine a program, a series of workshops. For youth affected by trauma or neglect. Not therapy, not charity—but a space where science, culture, and healing meet. Where we teach them not just about rare and medicinal plants—but about how their own minds can grow and adapt. About resilience.”

  A beat passed. The greenhouse felt serene, the world outside forgotten. She added, “We blend basic science with culturally rooted knowledge—like the herbal remedies their grandparents might still use. We show them these traditions have value. That their stories matter.”

  Adrian leaned forward, closing the remaining distance between them. He looked certain. Confirmed.

  “You're describing cognitive empowerment through plants.”

  Mira smiled a little, feeling the connection snap into place. “Yes. And post-traumatic growth. But it has to be gentle. Creative. Not clinical. That’s why I was thinking we could include drawing, too. Music. Sensory exploration.”

  Adrian’s brow lifted slightly. “Neuroplasticity,” he said.

  Mira blinked. “Exactly! The idea that the brain changes. That we can heal, adapt. Just like roots finding new paths in rocky soil.”

  Then she laughed, a bright sound in the room. “Noah’s a violinist. Ren’s a mangaka. We’ve got art and music covered. I’ll lead the sessions. And you—you’re you. I think we might have the perfect team.”

  She waited for a response, perhaps a thoughtful nod or a moment of consideration.

  Instead, Adrian moved with sudden purpose. He slid the laptop closer, his hands claiming the keyboard.

  Mira blinked. “Wait—what are you—?”

  Adrian responded through action. He pulled the machine into his space, his fingers flying across the keys. Mira gravitated toward him, leaning in to follow the lines appearing on the screen.

  Week One: The Brain is a Garden

  Mira’s breath caught softly. She shifted closer to read, her shoulder brushing against his. He remained anchored there, accepting the contact.

  Week Two: Weathering the Storm

  It felt as though he plucked the thoughts directly from her mind, transcribing them before she could even voice them.

  Then came—

  Week Three: Rooted in Culture

  Mira whispered the title, the words tasting familiar. “Rooted in Culture…”

  She glanced sideways at Adrian. He focused entirely on the task, typing with a fluidity that suggested recollection rather than invention—as if these plans had waited there, just beneath the surface, for years.

  He added session after session—each one tied to a learning objective, a healing goal, a creative activity. Drawing. Journaling. Tactile games. Music therapy woven subtly into each session.

  They worked in tandem. Side by side. The screen glowed softly, illuminating their shared focus.

  Mira leaned in further, her arm brushing his again.

  They remained close, the space between them dissolving.

  Mira’s eyes sparkled as she scanned the screen, her heart racing with excitement. The plan Adrian generated so quickly transcended a simple outline—it was detailed, tangible, everything she had hoped to create.

  Before Adrian could answer, Mira’s hands moved on instinct. She grasped his arm, a quick, excited squeeze, her fingers registering the firmness under his sleeve. Her eyes were wide, her whole face glowing. Her voice rose with delight, “Adrian, this is—this is amazing! You’ve actually made it real.”

  He paused for a heartbeat. Just one. He looked down at her hand resting on his arm—and stayed still.

  “Uh,” he said, appearing slightly dazed by the contact. “This is nothing.”

  When he finally leaned back, Mira took a long moment, reading the plan again. Then she nodded slowly. “I can’t believe you just pulled all of this together.”

  “No,” he said, pausing just long enough to meet her gaze, “your idea is. In a good way.”

  Mira’s voice softened.

  “I just… think we should do something for the kids who can’t afford to dream right now. They’ve already been through enough.”

  Then she smiled, keeping her eyes on the screen. “I’ll send it to you. And the others. See what they think.”

  “By email?”

  “Yeah. I’ll ask for their thoughts first. Then we can talk through everything next meeting. If everyone’s in…”

  She glanced at him, eyes sparking with purpose. “I’ll reach out to community centers. Maybe schools too. Let’s make it real.”

  For once, Adrian simply nodded, a gesture of silent support.

  Working with Adrian often carried a weight—he was distant, an infamous genius, a challenge to read. He looked just like someone she knew—cool, detached, with that absolute memory and deep interest in plants. Suddenly, she felt her heart skip a beat. She shoved the idea away instantly—there was no way someone could be so similar.

  “I’m really happy that the plan worked out. Honestly, looking at your serious face, I was afraid you’d reject the idea.”

  Adrian continued typing, his eyes fixed on the screen. She watched him for a moment, observing his profile—and then she caught it. A small curve at the corner of his mouth, fleeting yet undeniable. It vanished almost instantly, but the warmth of it remained in her chest.

  The work concluded earlier than expected—a testament to Adrian’s absolute recall. He retrieved details of hundreds of species, their complex scientific names, key references, and special notes with effortless precision. Mira, by contrast, managed only a handful.

  She expressed her admiration openly. “Your memory is insane. I don’t know how you do it, but this made everything so much faster.”

  Adrian accepted the praise calmly. “Do you need anything else?”

  “So far, this is more than enough,” she said, stretching her arms above her head. “I’ll let you know if there’s anything later.”

  She began to gather her things, flipping through her notebook to mark their place.

  Adrian, still beside her, reached down and took the pen she had set aside.

  With clear intent, he leaned over the open page and wrote in the margin just above the last line of notes. She glanced over, intrigued.

  A phone number.

  Before she could speak, he returned the pen to the table.

  “For coordination,” he said, his tone even. “If anything changes.”

  Then he stood, the moment transitioning smoothly into the next.

  They left the greenhouse together, walking side by side down the hallway toward their dorms. The air outside felt cool, the weekend night settling around them.

  From a distance, Mira’s friends spotted her. “Mira! What are you doing? Hurry up, we’re waiting!”

  She had an appointment—a small campfire gathering with singing and barbecue. A weekend tradition.

  Mira waved back enthusiastically, her voice full of energy. “I’ll be there soon! Just need to drop these things in my room!”

  Adrian’s gaze shifted toward her friends, then returned to her. For a split second, their eyes locked.

  “Oh,” she said, sensing the question. “We’re having an outdoor party. Perfect timing that we finished early—I hate being late.” She grinned.

  Adrian listened, accepting the information.

  They continued down the hallway. Mira suddenly realized a convenient detail—his room sat directly opposite hers.

  “Hey,” she said, glancing up at him, “next time, can we just meet at the rooftop botanical garden upstairs? It’ll save time since our rooms are close.”

  Adrian nodded. “No problem.”

  Mira gave him a small wave. “Bye, then.”

  She slipped into her room, closing the door behind her, the natural ease of their parting settling comfortably in her mind.

  ?

  The campfire burned brightly, sending a warm glow across the circle of friends. Sparks floated up into the night sky, vanishing like tiny fireflies. The scent of roasting marshmallows mixed with the smoky aroma of the barbecue sizzling on the grill. Someone had set up fairy lights around the trees, making the scene feel even more magical.

  As Mira stepped into the light, her friends immediately noticed her arrival.

  “Elara! Luca! Naomi, Elias, Valeria, Camille!” she called out with a grin, waving at them.

  Elara turned first, eyes narrowing playfully. “Mira, were you just walking with Adrian?”

  Naomi, who was tending to the skewers, glanced over with sudden interest. “Wait, the Adrian?”

  Elias, lounging lazily on a log, smirked. “You mean the human encyclopedia? The guy who never talks to anyone?”

  Valeria, who was adding more wood to the fire, raised an eyebrow. “And you were walking side by side?”

  Luca, sitting with his guitar resting on his lap, chuckled. “This just got interesting.”

  Camille, who had been scrolling through her phone, looked up. “Spill. Now.”

  Mira rolled her eyes, dropping onto a seat next to Elara. “Relax, we’re working on a project together for the Rare Plants Greenhouse Club.”

  Elara scooted closer. “And? How is he? He’s famous, you know. Deadly handsome, same level as his cool and cold—and, of course, his ridiculous intelligence, the only heir of the Vale empire. What’s it like working with him?”

  Mira grinned, shaking her head. “Well… definitely exactly as you described. His memory is insane—he worked so efficiently, didn’t waste a single second. Honestly, I could barely breathe the whole time.”

  Silence.

  Then, Naomi gasped dramatically. “Hold on. Did you just say you could barely breathe? Mira, the queen of adventure? The one who climbed that ridiculous tree last month just to get a better shot of a bird?”

  Elias whistled. “Wow. That is something.”

  Valeria crossed her arms, smirking. “So, the mysterious genius finally managed to shake you a little?”

  Luca leaned forward, grinning. “I gotta say, this is kinda fun to hear.”

  Camille laughed, nudging Mira. “Maybe he’s not as cold as we thought?”

  “You guys are impossible.”

  The group erupted into laughter, the teasing lighthearted and warm. Naomi handed Mira a skewer with perfectly roasted marshmallows, and she took it with a thankful nod.

  Luca finished strumming a few notes on his guitar, then suddenly smirked and asked, “Wait, wait. You said you were walking with Adrian, right? So… why were you two heading the same way?”

  Mira, who had just taken a bite of her marshmallow, paused mid-chew. “Oh, uh… our rooms just happen to be opposite each other.”

  For a second, there was silence.

  Then—

  “WHAAAT?!”

  The entire group erupted into screams, laughter, and exaggerated gasps. Naomi nearly dropped her skewer, Elara clutched her chest as if she had just heard the plot twist of the century, and Camille dramatically fell onto Elias’s shoulder.

  Valeria grinned mischievously. “No way. So you’re telling us that you two—Mira and Adrian—are not only working on a project together but also living literally right across from each other?”

  Elias shook his head in disbelief. “That’s way too convenient. It’s like the setup for every romantic drama ever.”

  Luca laughed, strumming a playful, dramatic tune. “Two strangers, destined to cross paths… living just a door apart… will sparks fly?”

  Mira groaned, covering her face. “Oh my god, you guys are so dramatic!”

  Naomi fanned herself. “I live for this kind of setup.”

  Elara leaned in, eyes twinkling. “So, do you two ever, I don’t know… bump into each other in the hallway? Exchange secret glances? Maybe one of you forgets their key, and the other has to help?”

  Camille clapped her hands. “Or—plot twist—he starts waiting for you after class!”

  Mira threw her hands up. “It’s nothing like that! We just happen to live in the same area!”

  Elias snickered. “Mira, Mira, Mira… let us dream a little.”

  She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help laughing along with them. The teasing continued for a while before Luca finally saved her by switching the subject back to music.

  Luca tapped his guitar. “Alright, enough gossip. Who’s singing tonight?”

  Naomi smirked. “Mira, obviously. Her voice is like a lullaby straight out of a fairy tale.”

  Elias raised an eyebrow. “Oh? A fairy adventure theme and a voice to match?”

  Mira playfully shoved him. “Oh, shut up.”

  Luca grinned, starting to strum a soft melody. “Alright, alright, let’s see if we can make this a proper campfire night.”

  As the familiar tune filled the air, the group slowly joined in, their voices blending together. Mira’s voice stood out—soft, pure, almost ethereal. It was the kind of voice that made people stop and listen.

  Elara nudged her. “See? Told you.”

  Mira laughed but kept singing, the warmth of the fire and the closeness of her friends making everything feel perfect.

  The night was filled with music, laughter, and stories. Valeria told a ridiculous tale about getting lost on campus, Elias and Camille argued over which horror movie was the best, and Naomi nearly choked on her marshmallow from laughing too hard at one of Luca’s jokes.

  The week had been exhausting, full of classes and projects, but tonight was different. It was a night of pure fun, of being surrounded by the people who knew her best. And for now, that was all that mattered.

  ?