In the garden of magic,
countless flowers bloomed in harmony.
But none were quite as breathtaking as the rose —
radiant, proud, and wrapped in velvet crimson.
The gardener tended to all his flowers with equal care,
but his heart held a quiet fondness for the sunflower —
the lonely one that always stood slightly apart,
forever turning its face to chase the sun.
The rose noticed this, too.
She watched the sunflower each day,
watched the way it longed for a light so far away.
And over time, she fell in love —
not with the sunflower's golden glow,
but with its unwavering loyalty.
Its devotion.
Its silent ache.
The rose admired from afar,
but admiration turned into sorrow.
Because no matter how beautiful she was,
the sunflower would never turn to her.
And in that sadness, the rose grew thorns —
sharp and bitter.
Not to harm,
but because it hurt too much not to.
The gardener, ever watchful, noticed.
He gently uprooted the rose
and planted her right in front of the sunflower,
where their stems could nearly touch.
At first, the sunflower did not look.
Its gaze was fixed on the sky,
as always.
But slowly, something shifted.
A petal turned.
Then another.
And finally, the sunflower saw her —
the rose, blooming despite her thorns.
So full of longing.
So full of light.
And in that moment, the sunflower fell in love too.
Not with the sun it could never reach,
but with the rose who stood by its side.
The rose glowed with joy.
Her thorns remained —
but they no longer dripped with poison.
They were simply part of her.
And that was enough.
For the sunflower,
who once chased the unreachable,
had finally found its new sun —
its beloved rose.