The air in Elara’s small flower shop usually smelled of damp earth and sweet jasmine, but today it carried the scent of something impossible. On her workbench sat a single glass vase holding a . Its petals were a flawless gradient—crimson bleeding into amber, then emerald, sapphire, and a deep, royal violet.

One rainy Tuesday, a young man named Julian hurried into the shop. He looked frantic, his coat dripping onto the linoleum. "I need something that says 'everything,'" he told her, breathless. "I'm leaving for a job across the ocean tomorrow, and I need to show someone that our life together doesn't have to be just one thing—it can be the whole world."

"These aren't natural," she whispered, "but neither is the way people find each other in a city of millions. They take a little extra work to make, but they're worth the effort."