She sat there, her back to him. Her hair draped along her back; the sun brought out honey-colored tints among the light brown. Her silk dress was the color of his ice-blue eyes; it fanned out around her. Her feet tucked beneath her. He stood watching her as she plucked a delicate white flower and gently placed it in her hair, keeping her bangs away from her pale face. He moved silently towards her; his bare feet made no sound. She picked another flower, twirling the stem in her long fingers. One by one, she carefully plucked each petal, mumbling softly.
“He loves me, he loves me not; He loves me, he loves me not.”
Her game continued until she had one petal left. Lips trembling, she pulled the remaining petal off and whispered “He loves me not.” She threw down the stem and the boy noted how many were lying on the ground. How many times had she played this game? He knelt besides her; she looked over, startled. In his hand he held a bright pink rose.
“He loves you,” he clarified, and pressed his lips to hers.