The rain had stopped, leaving the air thick and smelling of wet earth and jasmine. He was meticulously arranging a small pile of marigolds on the weathered stone step of the temple, each bloom facing her. She stood a few feet away, her head tilted, watching him with a quiet, almost reverent expression. Her sari, a vibrant emerald green, clung to her in the dampness. He finished, stepped back, and offered her a shy, hesitant smile. The setting sun, breaking through the clouds, painted the ancient stone carvings of the temple in a warm, golden light, illuminating the gentle curve of her cheek and the way her eyes seemed to hold the entire universe. A single, stray drop of water clung to the tip of her nose, and he instinctively reached out, his fingertip brushing against her skin as he gently wiped it away. The world seemed to shrink, to focus solely on that fleeting, innocent touch.