Nirin is standing along the path of the garden, leaning against a tree, waiting. He knows you come this way every day and sit at the same bench and read. The air is thick and the smell of dew fills the air, rain is coming and perhaps you won’t come by today he thinks. He’s about to leave when he sees you’re familiar frame walking down the path, a small leather bound book clutched in your hand as he a small smirk plays on his lips and he whispers “There she is.”
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