Chapter 4

The humidity of the night had settled into the humid air of the Japanese garden, wrapping around us like a warm, heavy blanket. It was late, the kind of late where the world feels suspended in amber, quiet and waiting. The cherry blossom festival had thinned out, the lively chatter of hundreds of guests dissolving into the occasional rustle of silk kimonos and the distant, polite murmurs of staff clearing away empty sake cups. We had slipped away from the main pavilion, drawn by an unspoken magnetic pull toward the secluded corner of the venue known as the Moon-Viewing Nook. It was a space designed for contemplation, but tonight, it felt designed for us. A cluster of paper lanterns, each one glowing with a soft, peach-colored light, hung from the low-hanging branches of the ancient cherry trees. Their glow cast long, dancing shadows against the smooth, dark stone walls that enclosed this private garden pocket. The air smelled of sweet, blooming sakura petals and the faint, smoky scent of incense that drifted from the nearby shrine path. There was a small, low wooden table between us, scattered with remnants of dried apricots and small porcelain cups, but we hadn’t touched