A word was spoken, "Jewish lover?"

A word of love blossomed.

I couldn't tell whether it was the sweet scent of the flowers wafting through the June breeze or the beauty of the flowers, white as snow, blooming profusely all over the tree. By the time I reached the base of the tree, the entire area was covered in white flowers.

The long, white petals of the flowers, spread out in a dazzling array on the leafless, slender stems, provide the most beautiful sight. The white carnation is one of the most fragrant flowers in the world.

It was late evening when I reached his feet. As far as the eye could see, I was in a forest full of dark green trees, so I couldn't fully make out the sky, but every little spot I could see was a patch of orange clouds. As I stood at his feet, four senses occupied me. One was the sound of a river winding its way through deep banks; another was the sweet scent of a flower; another was the long, white petals of a daisies blooming in a dense mass; another was the pollen that brushed my cheek softly;

I took off my shoes. If I had to step on the flower petals, I would have preferred to do so without shoes. The soft petals, slightly damp and cool from the drizzle, felt soft and fluffy against my feet. I wanted to touch them with my hands, so I sat down.

I, who was only familiar with the sounds of the city, fell in love with the quiet beauty of the forest for the first time.

Surprisingly, I felt like lying down there. Then I actually lay down. I had heard of the art of hypnotizing someone to sleep.

But I don't know if it was the beautiful white carnation flowers or the fragrance that filled the entire air that lulled me to sleep in that place.

Oh my God... I never knew how pleasant it was to lie down on the ground, surrounded by flowers. At that moment, my whole body felt as light as a thin, soft piece of cotton.

As I lay there, surrounded by tall, straight, shady trees, I forgot my own existence. I forgot why I had come here. I forgot how I had longed for him in Yangon, who had been so respectful of my work that I was annoyed. I felt as if the hundreds of neatly planted, well-groomed trees had me mesmerized.

That's when the first story began.

“Once upon a time, a train was coming to a small mountain village in the tropics. It broke down and stopped for a moment. While the train was still standing, a young man got off the train.”

The voice was that of a young man, not very old. It came from behind the white sycamore tree where I was sleeping. The voice was soft, soft, and gentle. The kind of voice that would make me patient. Who could it be? A traveler resting in the shade of a tree? Was he speaking because he knew I was there, or was he speaking to himself, unaware that I was there? It didn't seem like someone who would attack me.

“When I got off, I was so tired that I had to walk around. But when I got to the ground, I saw a small yellow bird resting on a bush near the railway. The bird was so beautiful that he went closer to look at it. The bird’s feathers were yellow all over, and there was a small gray band around its neck. When he gently touched it and prepared to touch it, the bird fluttered its wings. But it didn’t fly away, but stayed close to the young man. So he gave it to me with his palm. The bird didn’t land on his palm as he wanted, but he dropped a small seed into it.”

The light around me was gradually fading. The fragrance was still so faint that it was intoxicating. I still wanted to sleep. I didn't want to let go of that taste.

"I'm not sure if I want to."

I began to be interested in his story. He paused, as if he knew where to stop, like a man who was used to telling stories. Did the voice come from directly above me, or from behind the white maple tree? I didn’t know. Apart from that voice, I couldn’t hear anything from him. The sound of his clothes brushing against the trunk of the tree, the sound of his movements against the leaves and flowers, nothing. Along with his quiet words, the sound of the river’s flow came to me. How wonderful it is to lie down on the fragrant flowers in the quiet forest and listen to a story with the music of the flowing water. I was back to being a child.

“The train continued to move away under his eyes, billowing smoke. He continued walking towards the village opposite the train. The village was not very big, not even a hundred houses. In the village, everyone knew everyone, so when a stranger came, they knew he was a stranger. If he was a stranger or had just moved here, it was customary to ask and offer help if needed.

“The boy told me that he was a carpenter by trade. When he said that he had come to live in this village, a Burmese doctor offered him a job. The man was getting married soon and wanted to build a house quickly. He had a large piece of vacant land, about twenty acres. He had to build a house there.”

The sun had completely disappeared and it was pitch black, and right above my face, huge white stars were shining, like white flowers. I looked around and saw layers of green, first green, then darker green, then darker green, and then greener green, and green mixed with the darkness to form a dark, black green. I had to get out of bed. I had to go back inside. I knew it. I had never been brave enough to stay in a strange place until dark with a stranger. Or had someone set me up?

"Actually, the boy is an apprentice carpenter. He has never built a big house by himself, but he believes in himself. So I followed the man to the high plain, which is the highest hill in the village. The strange thing is that a small river flows through the high plain. The land is large. But...