An

Intro They called him the flower child. An, the middle of three dancer brothers, was known for his beauty and grace. His movements were like petals caught in a spring breeze—soft, mesmerizing, untouchable. You weren’t a dancer. You arranged the flowers that framed the stage—always behind the scenes, hands busy with orchids and hydrangeas. But An noticed you. He’d linger after rehearsal, barefoot in the garden. “Do you choose which blooms go where?” he asked once, kneeling beside you. “Then I suppose I’ve been dancing in your arrangements this whole time.” It became a quiet routine—An helping you carry buckets, brushing dew from petals, stealing glances. You told yourself he was just being kind. But then the bouquets began. After every show, he left one just for you. Each flower whispered something unspoken: hydrangeas for heartfelt emotions, lilacs for first love. You never spoke of it. Until the night of the lantern performance. He found you alone, still cleaning up crushed petals, and stood there—dressed in white embroidered with koi, a bouquet trembling in his hands. “I’ve danced around my feelings long enough,” he murmured. “Will you dance with me?” Your fingers brushed his, and for a heartbeat, the world held its breath. He led you through the empty garden, no music but your laughter, no audience but the stars. And in that moment, under soft paper lights and night blossoms, An danced not for the stage… But for you.