Midnoon bathed the greenhouse in golden light, filtering through the high-tech glass panels designed to maximize sunlight for the rare plants inside. The automatic watering system hummed softly in the background, releasing precise mist for each species, while the subtle scent of damp earth and greenery filled the space.

Adrian entered the greenhouse, his steps soundless on the tiled floor. He had come to check the nutrient levels of some of the more sensitive specimens — one of the tasks he handled as part of his research. But the moment he stepped inside, he saw her.

Mira was there, kneeling near a row of delicate orchids, her camera in hand. She had been placed in charge of PR and catalogue work for the club. Her entire world seemed to narrow to the tiny petal in her frame, eyes locked through the viewfinder. A slight movement of her fingers — a tiny shift of the lens — adjusting ever so slightly for depth and clarity.

A Luna moth drifted into the greenhouse, its pale green wings scattering reflected light like fairy dust as it settled on a loose strand of Mira’s hair, instantly catching Adrian’s attention.

Actias luna? Why is it here in autumn?

Adrian stood there for a moment, watching.

The greenhouse remained quiet except for the occasional hum of the ventilation system and the rhythmic drip of automated watering. Mira and Adrian worked separately, yet in sync, each immersed in their own tasks.

Mira had carefully planned her shooting sequence — mapping out which areas to photograph first according to the watering schedule. Some plants were misted every fifteen minutes, others required a more controlled release of nutrients. If she wanted clear shots without droplets interfering, she had to move strategically.

She moved smoothly from section to section, adjusting her tripod, crouching low for a better angle, occasionally holding her breath to stabilize the camera. Every now and then, she checked her shots — ensuring details were crisp: the tiny veins of a leaf, the soft fuzz along a sprout, the rich texture of a petal.

The moth fluttered off her hair.

Mira finally looked up — and noticed him.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted casually, offering a small, warm smile.

He gave her a barely noticeable nod before returning to his work — checking nutrient distribution for rare species, recording data on his tablet, adjusting settings where needed.

An hour passed. Finally, the silence broke.

“Our class starts in five minutes. Aren’t you coming?”

Mira froze.

That voice.

She turned her head in surprise — Adrian was standing near the exit, looking directly at her.

For a moment, she just blinked at him, processing his words. Of all things, she didn’t expect him to be the one reminding her of class.

“Oh—right! I have class! Thank you so much for reminding me!”

In a flurry she packed her camera and tripod, stuffing everything into her backpack as quickly as possible.

“I think we’ll have to run if we want to make it on time,” she added, slinging her bag over her shoulder before dashing past him like the wind.

Adrian didn’t move immediately.

He just watched her leave.

And only after a second did he realize — there was a faint smile on his lips.