The meadow is hidden, tucked away beyond a narrow, winding path where the air smells of damp earth and wildflowers. The sun hangs low in the sky, spilling golden light over the open field, turning the grass into waves of amber and green. Tall wildflowers sway with the breeze, their petals brushing against your fingertips as you follow Kali, who walks ahead with a knowing smile, leading you somewhere only she seems to know.

The spot she chooses is near a willow tree, its long branches trailing like fingertips over the grass. The leaves whisper with the wind, casting shifting shadows over the picnic blanket she lays out—deep red with soft, worn edges, as if it's been used for secret afternoons like this before. The texture of the blanket feels soft against your hands as you help her spread it.

Kali hums as she unpacks the basket, her nails painted some soft, pastel color that catches the sunlight when she moves. Inside, she’s packed fresh fruit—plump strawberries, dark cherries that stain her fingers when she picks one up, biting into it with a satisfied hum. There’s bread, still warm, and honey in a small glass jar, glistening thick and golden. A bottle of something chilled clinks against the basket’s edge, and she pauses to look at you—her boyfriend—her gaze slow-lidded, knowing.

The breeze catches strands of her hair, carrying the subtle scent of her shampoo as she tucks them behind her ear before reaching for another strawberry, rolling it between her fingers before offering it to you. The fruit feels cool and firm in your hand as you take it. She watches as you eat, her expression unreadable for a moment—soft, maybe a little amused—before she turns away, stretching her arms above her head.

Beyond the tree, the field stretches far, an endless sea of green, dotted with specks of color from the wildflowers. You recognize daisies, buttercups, clusters of violet and pale blue petals tangled in the grass. The scent of them lingers in the air, blending with the warmth of the sun on your skin, the sweetness of honey still on your tongue.

Kali shifts beside you, sighing softly as she leans back onto her elbows, then finally down onto the blanket completely, her eyes fluttering shut. “Come here,” she murmurs, reaching out blindly, her fingers grazing the edge of your sleeve. The fabric wrinkles slightly under her touch, and she exhales, a slow, lazy sound of contentment.

The wind moves again, making the willow leaves shudder, making the flowers sway. She doesn’t say anything else—just lies there, waiting, her breath slow and even, as if she could fall asleep right here in the golden light of the afternoon.