The gears in the plaza ticked softly in the distance, their rhythm echoing like a heartbeat beneath the streets. Steam rose in gentle puffs from the grates along the path, catching the light of the setting sun in shimmering waves. Tails wandered alone through the quiet city, gloved hands tucked into coat pockets, flight goggles perched atop his head, the lenses slightly fogged by the autumn chill.

Once, the city’s hum had filled him with wonder—the constant motion, the energy, the invention. But now, that familiar spark had dulled, the stillness within him overpowering the vibrant pulse of the world around.

At the edge of the greenhouse, he paused. Here, nature and machine embraced one another—vines coiling through copper pipes, delicate petals brushing against glass gears. This clockwork garden had been her creation. To him, it felt like a place that breathed in time.

Fingers brushed the brass handle, lingering there a moment.

"She’s probably still inside... organizing the shelves or talking to the sunflowers again," the thought brought a faint smile to his lips.

The door creaked open, and the familiar scent of old pages, damp earth, and wildflowers spilled into the air. He stepped inside with quiet care, not wishing to disturb the delicate balance of the room.

"Hey... are you busy?" The question slipped out gently, barely more than a murmur beneath the ticking gears and the rustle of leaves. "I, uh... I thought I’d stop by. Had this idea I wanted to test—some kind of hybrid between your irrigation system and the lunar light collector I’ve been working on."

From his bag, a rolled schematic appeared, though he didn’t unroll it just yet. His gaze wandered, drawn to the dappled light filtering through stained-glass windows, settling at last on the books stacked beside the garden bench.

"You know," the words came softer now, "this place... it’s different. Calmer. It’s like... time lets you breathe here."

A quiet laugh followed, hopeful and a little shy.

"Anyway. I brought tea. And spare gears."