Morning had not yet arrived.

It had only begun thinking about it.

The world rested in that quiet hour when night had not finished speaking, and dawn had not yet answered.

An endless garden stretched beneath the sleeping sky.

There were no gates.

No walls.

The flowers simply continued until the mist decided they had become distant enough.

The paths were made from clear crystal stone.

Rain kissed them gently.

Every raindrop became another tiny star beneath one's feet before quietly fading into reflection.

Walking there felt less like crossing a garden...

and more like strolling across a calm sky that had decided to become earth.

Soft rain wandered endlessly.

Not enough to hurry anyone.

Only enough for the air to smell of wet leaves and blooming memories.

Mist drifted lazily between flower beds.

The fog wasn't white.

It carried pale lavender and soft blue, as though dawn had quietly dissolved inside it before ever reaching the horizon.

Everywhere...

flowers bloomed.

Some carried petals made of thin crystal.

Some opened only when someone smiled nearby.

Others released little glowing seeds that never touched the ground.

Instead...

they became tiny birds of light.

No bird ever sang.

Their silence was already beautiful enough.

Fountains rested throughout the endless garden.

Round fountains.

Square fountains.

Hexagonal fountains.

Some looked as though rivers had decided to become sculptures.

Some floated gently a little above the crystal paths.

Some poured crystal water upward toward the clouds.

Others...

held no water at all.

Only wishes.

They shimmered like little ribbons of moonlight gently circling inside empty basins.

No one threw coins into them.

The wishes had found the fountains by themselves.

Benches waited patiently beside nearly every path.

No two were alike.

Some were carved from old cedar.

Some from polished white stone.

One looked entirely grown from vines.

Many rested beneath enormous umbrellas.

Some lavender.

Some completely transparent.

Raindrops rolled slowly across their clear canopies,

turning every shelter into another little sky.

A gardener wandered through the rain.

His clothes were soaked.

His boots carried tiny droplets that sparkled whenever they touched the crystal ground.

He no longer carried tools.

Only an empty watering can.

Long ago...

he had cared for ordinary gardens.

Roses.

Lilies.

Fruit trees.

People often thanked him when flowers bloomed.

Few noticed how quietly tired he had become.

Eventually...

he stopped asking plants to grow.

He simply walked.

Wondering whether beauty continued without him.

The empty watering can gently knocked against his leg with every step.

He had considered leaving it behind many times.

It always seemed to follow.

Near a fountain shaped like an open hand...

someone stood beneath a transparent umbrella.

Rain slipped silently across the clear canopy.

She wore a long raincoat woven from moss-colored threads.

In one hand she held a little notebook.

The pages were completely blank.

Yet every few moments...

she smiled gently,

as though she had just finished reading something wonderful.

The gardener approached.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you."

She looked up.

"The rain already introduced us."

He laughed.

"I must have missed that."

"It speaks very softly."

They walked together without deciding to.

The paths simply curved that way.

One fountain suddenly released hundreds of tiny glowing fish into the air.

They swam lazily through the mist before becoming little droplets again.

The gardener stopped.

"I've never seen water remember how to dream."

The woman smiled.

"Those weren't fish."

"No?"

"They were wishes that had finally learned where to swim."

He looked at the fountain.

Inside...

there was still no water.

Only hundreds of gentle lights circling slowly.

"I thought wishes were supposed to come true."

"They do."

"So why are they still here?"

She looked toward the endless flowers.

"Some wishes..."

"...become places instead."

The gardener quietly repeated those words inside himself.

He wasn't certain why they made his heart feel lighter.

They reached a tiny bench beneath a lavender umbrella.

The bench wasn't made from wood.

It had grown from the roots of an enormous flower.

Its petals formed the backrest.

Rain tapped gently above them.

The umbrella glowed softly.

The gardener rested his empty watering can beside his feet.

"I've carried this for years."

"I know."

"It hasn't held water in a very long time."

The woman nodded.

"It isn't supposed to."

He frowned.

"Then why does it still feel useful?"

She reached toward a nearby flower.

Instead of plucking it...

she gently touched one glowing petal.

The flower slowly folded into a tiny drop of golden light.

The light drifted into the empty watering can.

Immediately...

soft green vines quietly wrapped around its handle.

Little white blossoms opened along its sides.

The gardener stared.

"What did you put inside?"

She smiled.

"Morning."

"It looked like a flower."

"It was."

"Then..."

"...why is it morning now?"

She looked toward the eastern sky.

It was still dark.

Still raining.

Still wrapped in lavender mist.

Then she answered,

"Morning doesn't begin because the sun rises."

"It begins..."

"...when something chooses to grow again."

The gardener looked inside the watering can.

It remained empty.

Yet somehow...

it no longer felt hollow.

He lifted it carefully.

Where a single drop landed upon the crystal path...

tiny blue flowers immediately bloomed.

They lasted only a few breaths.

Then they became little stars beneath the rain.

The gardener smiled.

"I've spent years thinking I had nothing left to water."

The woman closed her notebook.

For the first time...

he noticed words slowly appearing across its pages.

Not ink.

Tiny vines.

"What are you writing?"

She gently shook her head.

"I never write."

"Then?"

"I wait."

"For what?"

"Until gardens decide they're ready to tell me their stories."

The rain became gentler.

The mist slowly wandered between the countless fountains.

One by one...

the wishes inside them quietly glowed a little brighter.

Far away...

a fountain shaped like a spiral suddenly released dozens of tiny butterflies made entirely from clear water.

They floated upward,

joining the early morning stars.

Neither traveler tried to count them.

Beautiful things rarely wished to be numbered.

Eventually...

the path divided.

One road disappeared beneath fields of crystal lilies.

The other wandered toward fountains too distant to recognize.

The gardener picked up his watering can.

It felt lighter.

Not because it weighed less.

Because it no longer reminded him of what had been empty.

Only of what could still bloom.

He looked toward the woman.

"I never asked what you do."

She folded the blank notebook beneath her arm.

Raindrops continued sliding quietly across the transparent umbrella.

Then she smiled.

"When wishes become too patient..."

"...I plant them where they can smell flowers."

The gardener laughed softly.

"I think that's the most beautiful profession I've ever heard."

She bowed.

"So do the gardens."

They parted without farewell.

Some meetings never truly end.

They simply continue blooming somewhere else.

Behind them...

the endless garden welcomed another quiet rain.

The fountains continued filling with wishes.

The benches patiently waited beneath their lavender and crystal umbrellas.

And somewhere...

hidden among countless flowers...

another tiny morning

was already beginning

long before

the sun

ever thought

to rise.