A small stream ran through the valley, humidifying the air and bestowing life on the plants along its banks. Its slow, gentle waters crept forward like a human life—meandering, pausing to form quiet pools here and there, murmuring over stones, bathing birds, sheltering fish, washing the drooping branches of the weeping willows. Swallows chased tiny insects above the water. Magpies and blackbirds strutted through the grass, searching for worms, fluttering to nearby trees when startled by rabbits. The air was heavy and damp.

Then came the sound of human voices.

The rabbits twitched their ears and dove into the bushes; the birds fled higher into the willow branches. A young man and a woman descended the hill into the valley.

“It’s so hot,” the woman said.

She was twenty-five or twenty-six, maybe twenty-seven. She hurried down the slope, kicked off her shoes and socks, and stepped boldly into the lazy river. A magpie clattered in the willow nearby.

“Hush, silly bird!” she laughed.

She was beautiful—long auburn hair, bright brown eyes with golden flecks that sparkled when she smiled, dimples that made her face look forever cheerful. And now she was laughing for real.

“Come on, move! It feels wonderful,” she called to the man behind her.

“I don’t feel like getting wet,” he muttered from the riverbank.

He was about thirty, with unruly black hair and dark—almost black—eyes. He wiped sweat from his brow. It was hot for him too, but he stayed stubbornly on shore, unwilling to follow just because she told him to.

“Don’t be silly, come in!” she teased, reading his thoughts.

He hesitated, then slowly took off his shoes, and even more carefully his socks, folding them neatly inside the shoes—unlike her, who had tossed hers into the grass. He wanted to look serious, dignified.

At last, he stepped into the river, walked toward her, slipped on a stone, and fell headlong into a shallow pool. The water barely reached his knees, yet he was soaked.

“Oof,” he groaned, trying to stand—and slipping again.

The woman’s laughter rang like a bell across the ripples. The rabbits twitched their ears once more; a few birds circled curiously overhead before settling back into the willows.

“Did you hurt yourself?” she asked, though she could see he was fine—only dripping wet—and burst out laughing again.

He got up awkwardly, hair plastered to his forehead, flipped it back, and mocked her:

“Did you hurt yourself? Of course I did! Dragging me into the wilderness!”

“Oh, but isn’t it lovely here?” she said, still smiling.

He wanted to retort, but the scene softened him—the lush green, the shimmer of water. He sighed.

“It is beautiful,” he admitted.

“Aha! So it is beautiful,” she said triumphantly. “See? You should listen when I lead the way.”

“Alright, alright,” he grinned. “Come here—I’ll tell you something.”

“What?”

She stepped closer. He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her, then pulled her down into the water with him. They fell together, splashing.

“Oh, what are you doing!” she laughed, pretending to scold him, eyes sparkling. The sudden bath delighted her. He only shrugged and smiled.

They stayed a while longer. She waded about, trying to catch small fish hiding beneath stones, while he stood still, enjoying the slow water washing over his legs.

“You are destructive,” he noted.

“Hey, come here!” she called, not hearing him.

“What now?”

“Look at this beautiful plant. What is it?”

“Jasmine,” he guessed, though he had no idea what jasmine looked like.

“It’s lovely. I feel drawn to it. Look—the buds are just forming. I wonder how it blooms.”

“Probably red,” he said.

“Nonsense! How would you know—the buds are green.”

“Could be blue, then. Or yellow.”

“You and your colors,” she laughed. “I’d love to see it bloom. Imagine staying here until it does?”

“That might take a week.”

“I’d wait a lifetime to see it bloom,” she said softly.

“Well, we’ll never know. By then, we’ll be back in the city.”

“Hmm… what if we take it with us?”

“How exactly?” he asked.

“We’ll dig it up carefully, and you’ll carry it in your backpack.”

“What? We can’t just uproot nature like that—it’s an ecosystem!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. We’ll plant it in a box on your balcony. Every time I come over, we’ll look at it and remember this day—this trip—for years.”

Her voice was velvet; the golden flecks in her eyes shimmered.

He glanced at her, warmth rising in his chest, though he hid it. He waded over, crouched, and carefully dug around the small plant.

Half an hour later, the two intruders left the valley.

The birds returned to their branches. The rabbits hopped back into the grass.

The river kept flowing lazily, smoothing over the hollow in the bank until there was no sign a plant had ever grown there.

***

“Ah, you stubborn thing,” the man said. “All these years I’ve watered you—and only now you bloom, without water—strange plant. You had buds once, back by the river, but you never bloomed, no matter how much I cared for you. Your flowers fell before I ever saw their color. I still don’t know what you are.”

The bush, now a meter and a half tall, stood neatly trimmed in a wooden planter. Its leaves were thick, glossy, dark green, shimmering in the light of the setting sun.

The man—now old, white-haired, his face lined—spoke quietly. Only his eyes remained young, still dark, almost black.

“Forty years I’ve had you. And now, for the first time, you’ve budded—after I forgot to water you for two weeks. How she loved you… Why didn’t you ever bloom for her?”

His voice faded into the evening.

He reached for a cigarette. Years ago, the doctor had warned him:

“These things will kill you. Cancer, emphysema, strokes—nothing good.”

Back then he had listened. But tonight was a sad anniversary, and the cigarettes called to him. One after another, until the pack was empty. He coughed, dizzy and sick.

He rose from his chair, stepped onto the balcony, and stroked one glossy leaf.

“Tomorrow,” he said softly, “I’ll see you bloom.”

Then he went inside.

He turned on the television but couldn’t focus. Turned it off. Nauseous now, his chest aching, he lay down, thinking it might be the flu. Eventually, he slept.

***

Morning light spilled across the trees and touched the balcony.

The bush stood blooming at last—its flowers large, white, fragrant, glowing in the warm light.

It waited patiently for the man to step outside and see.

It waited all day.

Evening came. The flowers gleamed in the dusk.

But no one came to see them.