𝐀 𝐊𝗂𐓣𝗀 𝐖ɦⱺ 𝐃ⱺ𝖾𝗌 𝐍ⱺ𝗍 𝐋αυ𝗀ɦ

The palace gardens became Nahla's refuge.

Every morning, as the first rays of sunlight spilled over the palace walls, she stepped into the cool embrace of the gardens. Dew clung to the petals of roses like tiny crystals, lavender swayed gently in the breeze, and birds greeted the dawn with cheerful songs that seemed untouched by the burdens of kingdoms.

It was the only place where she could breathe without feeling the weight of stone walls pressing against her chest.

The palace was still her prison.

Its gates remained locked.

Its guards never left their posts.

Every path she walked was watched by silent eyes.

Yet among the flowers...

She almost felt free.

Her hands slowly returned to familiar rhythms.

Loosening compact soil.

Pruning dying branches.

Mixing herbs that protected neighboring plants from insects.

The gardeners no longer questioned her methods.

Instead, they quietly followed them.

The once-rigid old head gardener now greeted her every morning with a respectful nod.

Some even smiled.

A small kindness.

But one she treasured.

At night...

When the palace finally grew quiet...

Nahla lit a single candle inside her chamber.

The tiny flame danced across rough stone walls as she opened the worn notebook she had carried from her own century.

Its pages had become her only confidant.

She filled them with careful sketches of flowers blooming inside the royal gardens.

She wrote the names of herbs she discovered.

She described unfamiliar trees and medicinal plants unknown in her own time.

Sometimes...

She wrote about home.

About rain falling against apartment windows.

About university lectures.

About her mother's warm laughter echoing through their tiny kitchen.

Other nights...

She wrote about him.

Not intentionally.

His name simply appeared beneath her pen before she realized it.

King Zain.

She never wrote long paragraphs.

Only observations.

"He watches more than he speaks."

"His eyes never rest."

"Everyone fears him."

"I wonder if anyone truly knows him."

One evening, after reading what she had written, she sighed and quickly closed the notebook.

"What am I doing?"

she whispered.

"I shouldn't even be thinking about him."

Yet somehow...

She did.

Far more often than she wished to admit.

It wasn't the flowers that occupied her thoughts anymore.

It was the king.

He came almost every evening.

Sometimes before sunset.

Sometimes beneath moonlight.

Sometimes after the palace had nearly fallen asleep.

He rarely announced his arrival.

He simply appeared.

Standing quietly beneath ancient stone archways or beside marble fountains.

Watching.

Always watching.

The gardeners instantly lowered their heads whenever he entered.

Servants hurried away.

Even birds seemed to quiet themselves.

Only Nahla eventually grew accustomed to his presence.

Not comfortable.

Never comfortable.

Simply...

Aware.

She could feel him without looking.

Like thunder gathering beyond distant mountains.

Powerful.

Silent.

Unavoidable.

The evening sky burned with brilliant shades of amber and violet.

Lanterns hanging along the garden paths flickered to life one by one, their warm light dancing across rows of blooming roses.

Nahla knelt beside a flowerbed, carefully trimming away wilted blossoms.

She knew he had arrived before hearing a single footstep.

The air itself seemed to change.

She continued working.

Trying not to look.

Trying not to care.

Finally...

Curiosity defeated caution.

Without lifting her head, she spoke.

"You come here almost every evening."

Silence.

She smiled faintly.

"I've started expecting you."

Still no answer.

She carefully clipped another rose.

"So..."

She finally looked toward him.

"...why do you keep coming?"

King Zain stood beneath a climbing rose arch.

Dark armor reflected the lantern light.

His black cloak stirred gently behind him.

Storm-gray eyes rested calmly upon her.

"Must a king explain why he walks through his own gardens?"

His voice remained as composed as ever.

Nahla shrugged lightly.

"Perhaps not."

She placed another flower inside her basket.

"But kings usually have wars to plan."

"Meetings."

"Councils."

"Petitions."

She glanced toward him again.

"They don't usually spend their evenings watching a stranger remove weeds."

A long silence followed.

Then...

The corner of his mouth almost moved.

Not enough to become a smile.

Enough to make her wonder if she had imagined it.

"You speak confidently."

"I've had plenty of time to think."

"Clearly."

She laughed softly.

"You still haven't answered."

He slowly walked closer.

Not threateningly.

Simply curious.

"And what answer have you imagined?"

Nahla considered the question.

"Maybe..."

She smiled thoughtfully.

"...you don't trust me."

"I don't."

"Maybe..."

She continued.

"...you think I'll suddenly disappear."

His expression remained unreadable.

"I considered the possibility."

"Or..."

She tilted her head.

"...perhaps you're simply curious."

Something flickered inside those gray eyes.

Gone almost instantly.

"You ask many questions."

"I've always been curious."

"It is a dangerous habit."

"So I've noticed."

To her surprise...

He didn't disagree.

She resumed pruning the roses.

After several quiet moments, she spoke again.

"I've read about kings."

Immediately she realized her mistake.

Read.

Books.

History.

Another century.

She quickly corrected herself.

"I've heard stories."

He folded his arms.

"And what do those stories say?"

"Some were cruel."

She clipped another branch.

"Some were wise."

Another.

"Some were loved."

She looked up.

"But none of them sound like you."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"And how exactly do I sound..."

His voice lowered.

"...girl from nowhere?"

The title no longer sounded mocking.

It almost sounded familiar.

Nahla stood slowly.

Brushing loose soil from her hands.

For a moment she considered remaining silent.

Then...

She answered honestly.

"You sound..."

She searched for the right words.

"...tired."

His expression did not change.

"You carry your kingdom the way soldiers carry wounded comrades."

A pause.

"Carefully."

Another.

"Constantly."

"And alone."

The breeze carried rose petals between them.

Neither spoke.

Finally she continued.

"I've never seen you laugh."

His eyes became colder.

"I've barely seen you smile."

The silence deepened.

Somewhere nearby, water trickled quietly through a marble fountain.

"I don't think..."

Her voice softened.

"...you remember how."

King Zain looked away.

Toward the palace walls.

Toward distant watchtowers silhouetted against the fading sky.

When he finally answered...

His voice sounded older.

"Laughter..."

He spoke slowly.

"...belongs to those who can afford peace."

He continued staring into the distance.

"My people bury sons."

"My soldiers die protecting borders."

"Every decision I make determines whether families live..."

"...or mourn."

He looked back at her.

"If I forget that burden even once..."

His jaw tightened.

"They pay the price."

The garden fell silent.

Even the breeze seemed to pause.

Nahla stepped closer.

Not enough to invade his space.

Only enough to speak quietly.

"My mother used to tell me something."

He waited.

"When flowers bloom after a storm..."

She gently touched the petals of a white rose.

"...they aren't pretending the storm never happened."

"They bloom because surviving is what they're meant to do."

She lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Maybe laughter works the same way."

He said nothing.

She smiled gently.

"I don't think smiling makes a king weak."

"I think forgetting how..."

She hesitated.

"...is what truly hurts."

Their eyes met.

Neither looked away.

For the first time...

She saw it.

Not power.

Not authority.

Not the king.

Only the man.

A loneliness so carefully hidden that perhaps no one else had ever noticed.

A quiet exhaustion buried beneath years of duty.

A heart locked behind walls stronger than the palace itself.

Just for an instant...

Something inside those storm-gray eyes cracked.

Not enough to break.

Only enough to let light through.

Then it disappeared.

His face became unreadable once more.

He turned away.

His cloak swept softly behind him.

As he passed the nearest rose bush...

His gloved fingertips brushed absentmindedly across blooming petals.

A tiny gesture.

Barely noticeable.

Yet somehow...

It felt like an answer.

"I will see these gardens again tomorrow."

His voice came without turning around.

"Make sure the white roses survive."

Then he walked away.

The guards silently followed.

Nahla remained standing among the flowers long after he disappeared beyond the stone archway.

The basket of freshly cut roses rested forgotten beside her feet.

Above her...

The first stars appeared.

That night...

Sleep refused to come.

Moonlight spilled across the floor of her chamber while her candle slowly burned itself into melted wax.

She lay awake staring at the ceiling.

Again and again she replayed the conversation inside her mind.

Not his words.

His silence.

The brief sadness hidden behind his eyes.

The almost-smile that never fully appeared.

She whispered into the darkness,

"What happened to you?"

No answer came.

Only the distant sound of palace bells drifting through the night.

Nahla closed her eyes.

A strange ache settled quietly inside her heart.

She had come searching for the legend of the Blue Rose.

For answers hidden beneath forgotten history.

Yet fate seemed to be leading her toward another mystery.

Not one buried beneath ancient stone...

But one hidden inside the soul of a king.

And somewhere deep within her heart, a thought bloomed as gently as the first flower after winter.

Perhaps...

She had not been brought into this century only to uncover the legend of the Blue Rose.

Perhaps...

She had also been sent to remind a king who had forgotten joy...

...that even the strongest hearts deserve to bloom again.