Copenhagen had a way of feeling impossibly vast and impossibly lonely at the same time. For Hannah Larsen, life was a careful balance of work, responsibility, and quiet dreams she never dared voice. At twenty-three, she managed a small flower shop left to her by her late aunt, arranging roses and tulips with meticulous care, trying to make beauty out of an ordinary life.
She wiped her hands on her apron and glanced out the window. The streets shimmered with morning light, reflecting off the cobblestones, but her heart felt heavy. Bills piled on the counter, her mother's health always fragile, and the gnawing worry that she wasn't enough, never would be enough, shadowed every day.
Then, a flicker of movement caught her eye in the small courtyard behind the shop. A man stood there, tall, striking, with an air of effortless command that seemed out of place in the quiet square. He looked like he belonged in a painting, strong, poised, and impossibly handsome, with eyes that could see straight through you.
Curiosity overpowered caution. Hannah stepped outside, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Excuse me," she said softly.
The man turned, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. "Hello," he said, voice smooth, confident, but with a warmth that made her heart flutter.
"I… uh… I wasn't expecting anyone here," she stammered, suddenly aware of her plain apron and paint-stained hands.
He smiled faintly, almost apologetically. "I'm Elias. Crown Prince Elias of Denmark," he said simply, as if that explained everything and nothing at all.
Hannah blinked. "Oh… of course."
"Please, call me Elias," he interrupted gently. "I come here often. To think. To escape."
There was a sadness in his eyes, an unspoken weight. Something in her chest tugged at her. She nodded. "I… understand."
He walked closer, studying the small courtyard, then glanced back at her. "This place… it's quiet. Safe. I like quiet."
Hannah felt her heart stir. "I like quiet too. It's… peaceful."
A shy, awkward pause hung between them, until a gust of wind swept through the courtyard, sending petals dancing around their feet. Elias bent slightly, picking one up, holding it between his fingers as if it were the rarest treasure.
"I used to have a sister," he said quietly, his eyes distant. "She loved gardens. I loved the feel of petals. She… passed away when I was twelve. I came here to remember her."
Hannah's chest tightened. She wanted to say something, but words failed. Instead, she held out her hand instinctively. "I… I'm sorry. That must have been hard."
He took her hand gently, just a brush of skin, and for a heartbeat, she felt warmth and a connection she couldn't name. "It was," he admitted. "But… It taught me something. Life is fragile. And when you find someone who sees you… truly sees you… you don't let go."
Her heart thudded. "Truly sees me?" she whispered.
"Yes," he said, voice low, urgent, and soft all at once. "I see you, Hannah. And I want you to know that."
Her breath caught. The world narrowed to that small courtyard, the drifting petals, and the man who saw her, really saw her, in a way no one else had.
And for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to believe… that perhaps she could belong somewhere, with someone, and be cherished.
The garden became their secret world that day, two souls meeting, hesitant yet magnetic, drawn together by vulnerability, unspoken longing, and the fragile beauty of trust.
And though neither knew what the future would bring, one truth became clear: nothing would ever make them forget this moment.