The festival had once been their haven, a pce where magic seemed to twist through the air, where time slowed, and the world was cast in colors so bright they felt eternal. The bck-haired girl, now grown into a graceful young woman, walked alone through the quiet grove where once they had pyed, where their ughter had mingled with the sounds of fireworks and music. She had hoped, perhaps foolishly, to find something—anything—that might remind her of that time. The time before the world had shattered into pieces. Before war.

  She had heard the stories of reunions, of souls finding each other after years apart, but all she had found was the echo of her own footsteps, the whisper of the wind through the trees, and the rustle of flowers in the evening air.

  Beneath the gentle sway of a tree, she found a small, weathered box half-buried in the earth. A box she and her dearest friend had hidden there long ago. She knelt beside it, brushing the soil off the surface, and a familiar weight settled in her chest. It was the same box, but time had weathered it, just as it had weathered her memories.

  As she opened the lid, the scent of old paper and dried flowers wafted out, a memory, tender yet sharp. Inside, she found small trinkets—things they had traded back and forth, tokens of their friendship—each item a small piece of the world they had once shared. And at the bottom, a single dried flower.

  A rose.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the feeling of those lost days wash over her. The way they had been so carefree, so unafraid of the future. The way the blonde-haired girl had ughed, that ughter so bright it had been like the sun itself.

  But she is gone now. The war had taken her away. And Camellia, in the quietness of her own thoughts, wondered if she had ever truly been real.

  She sighed, standing up slowly, smoothing the wrinkles of her garments as she turned to leave, her heart heavy with the weight of nostalgia. The evening air held a chill now, as if the day were fading in sympathy with her own emotions.

  But then, a ugh. Delicate, high-pitched, like the ringing of a bell.

  She spun around, her heart leaping in her chest.

  A figure stood in the distance, just beyond the flowers. She could barely make out the silhouette, but she knew who it was. The blonde girl.

  Her heart stuttered.

  But when Camellia approached, the girl—Rose, she was called, though it felt strange to use the name now—was not as she remembered her. There was no longer that youthful joy in her eyes, no longer that unguarded spirit. Instead, there was a strange air of something lost, something broken. Her gaze seemed distant, like she was looking at something far away.

  "You…?" Camellia whispered, her voice trembling.

  But Rose only ughed softly, as though the question had no meaning. She had been gone for so long. And here, in the quiet of the grove, amidst the blooming flowers, they had met again.

  For a moment, there was silence. Neither of them moved, as though the weight of their years apart was too much to bear. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the sound of distant drums from the festival, but their eyes never left each other.

  "I wondered if you’d ever come back," Rose said finally, her voice tinged with sadness.

  "I wondered if you’d remember me."

  Camellia took a hesitant step forward, then another. She reached out a hand, fingers trembling.

  "I never stopped thinking about you," she murmured, her heart aching with every word.

  "But I didn't know if you would remember me. Or if it was something… we could ever have again."

  Rose's gaze softened, a shadow of a smile pulling at her lips.

  "Some things, no matter how far apart we are, will always come back to us," she said.

  "But the question is… do we want them to?"

  Before Camellia could respond, Rose turned away, walking toward the small pond nearby, where the reflection of the moon danced on the water’s surface.

  Camellia stood there, watching her, the space between them growing wider with every moment. The ache in her chest deepened. This was not what she had imagined when she dreamed of seeing Rose again.

  This… this felt like a stranger wearing Rose’s face. The world had changed them both.

  Yet, still, a part of her—a part that had never truly let go—reached for the girl she had known. The girl with the ugh that had once filled the air like music.

  "Can we go back?" Camellia asked softly.

  "Just for a moment, before everything changed?"

  Rose stopped, her back still turned, but her shoulders tensed. The night seemed to hold its breath.

  "Can we?" she asked quietly.

  "Can we really go back, when everything between us has changed?"

  The answer, unspoken, hung in the air like the faintest trace of a forgotten song.

  "I don't know," Camellia replied, her voice breaking slightly.

  "But I want to try."

  Rose turned then, her expression unreadable. There was a look in her eyes, distant yet so familiar. The ache of longing, the pull of something broken yet still alive.

  "I don’t know if I can do that," Rose whispered.

  "I don’t know if I can ever be who I was before… But I still remember you. I still remember us."

  The wind shifted, swirling around them, carrying with it the faintest trace of music from the festival. It was distant, like a dream slipping away with the dawn. Camellia felt a tear slip down her cheek, but she did not wipe it away. She let it fall, for it was a part of her too.

  At that moment, the distance between them felt like an eternity. The years of war, the separation, the loneliness. It all stood between them, like an impenetrable wall. And yet, here they were, standing on the same ground once more.

  Rose took a step forward then, her movements slow, as though weighed down by the years they had lost.

  "One day we’ll find a way back," she said softly.

  "But for now, we have this moment. Just this one moment."

  She reached out, and without thinking, Camellia took her hand. The world seemed to pause as they stood there, their fingers entwined.

  And in that moment, a single rose, a memory of her name, and of their shared past, bloomed beneath their feet. The delicate petals unfolded, and it was as though the world itself had shifted, just for them.

  For a fleeting moment, the stars seemed brighter, the music of the festival louder. And the two of them, standing in the quiet grove, were not bound by the past or the future.

  They were simply two girls, sharing the space where time had no meaning, where the magic of the festival could still make them believe in something beautiful.

  Even if it was only for one night.

  The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting shadows on the ground where the two girls stood. They had not spoken in some time, but the silence between them was not uncomfortable. It was a silence that spoke of shared understanding, of things left unsaid but still deeply felt.

  And somewhere, in the distance, the festival music continued, its echoes a reminder of a time that could never truly be recimed, but would never be forgotten either.

  Camellia gnced at Rose, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

  The flowers around them swayed gently in the breeze, and the world, for just a moment, felt whole again.