It began with the scent of roses.
Not the kind that bloom in the city, muted by smog and asphalt—but wild, deep, intoxicating. Haru wandered barefoot through soil she didn't remember planting, beneath a sky that shimmered with lavender clouds and faint stars that pulsed like hearts.
The garden stretched endlessly. Flowers she'd never seen blossomed in slow, breathy motion. Petals curled open like sighs. Vines coiled lazily around marble arches that seemed older than memory.
And in the center, beneath a willow tree heavy with blossoms of gold and crimson, stood Ren.
Not quite the Ren she knew—but an echo of him shaped by longing. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes—deep, smoldering—never left hers. His presence rippled through the air like a warm breeze before a summer storm.
"Haru," he said. Just that. But her name on his tongue felt like it bloomed inside her chest.
She stepped closer. She didn't remember moving.
Her gown was silk—flowing, diaphanous, catching the faint breeze as though it breathed with her. Her hair was down. Her cheeks were warm. Her heart fluttered wildly, but she didn't look away.
"I... I think I've dreamed of you before," she murmured.
"Maybe you've just stopped pretending you weren't dreaming of me."
The words didn't come with arrogance, but certainty—a quiet confidence that curled around her like wine. His hand extended, and when she took it, the world seemed to shimmer. The garden dimmed, focusing only on the space between their bodies.
"You've been watching," Ren whispered, brushing her cheek. "Hiding behind your flowers. Your manners. But your soul... it's bold, isn't it?"
Her breath caught. The heat in her belly stirred.
"I don't—"
"Don't lie," he murmured gently, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. "Not here. Not in dreams. You want something. You want me."
She trembled, and for a heartbeat, her instincts screamed to pull back. But the pull was too strong—like gravity made of silk and shadow.
"I want... more than you'll ever know," she breathed.
Their kiss wasn't sudden—it unfolded like the petals of the tree above them. Slow. Deep. Blooming with unspoken longing. His hands slid to her waist, hers to his chest. They moved together in perfect silence, bodies brushing, warmth shared.
In this dream, there was no fear of being seen. No barriers. Just sensation. Acceptance.
The garden pulsed with light as if it fed on their desire. Flowers bloomed brighter. Stars sparkled more intensely.
And then—
She gasped softly, feeling the world tilt. Her knees weakened, but he held her—steady, grounding.
"You're opening," Ren whispered. "Finally."
When Haru awoke, breath shallow and skin flushed beneath her sheets, the scent of roses still lingered.
And she knew, with quiet certainty, that this wasn't just a dream.
It was an invitation.