The girl was walking in silence. The night was cold and windy and she was not in the mood for talking. The boy walked on, unsure how to spark a conversation.

A breeze swept by. Warm yellow petals fluttered softly onto the ground. The boy reached out and caught one in his hand. Opening his fingers slowly, the petal presented itself, crumpled and golden.

The girl looked on, curious, upon which the boy showed the petal to her.

“A petal?” she asked.

“Yes. A petal from the yellow flame tree” the boy answered, glancing upward at the flowers.

“Oh. That’s a yellow flame tree? How did you catch it?” She followed his glance.

“I reached out.”

“That’s it?” she smiled. “Pure luck.”

“They say that if you can catch a cherry blossom petal in your hand, you will have a good love life.”

“It’s yellow. Cherry blossoms are pink.” The girl observed out loud.

“Well, this is my cherry blossom,” the boy explained. “And they say that a cherry blossom petal falls at a rate of 5 centimetres per second,” he added.

“What about this petal then?” The girl asked, pointing at the small crumpled piece of gold resting on the boy’s palm. She was intrigued.

“Well, it has to be 5 centimetres per second” The boy answered without missing a beat.

“Because it is your cherry blossom?” She followed through.

“Yes.” The boy nodded.

“Oh, poetic thoughts” The girl smirked.

“Something like that” The boy looked away. A sudden tinge of embarrassment jolted him.

“Well, they also say that if you can catch a falling cherry blossom petal, you can become a poet.” The girl said.

“If only it’s so easy?” The boy wondered.

“How then can you become a poet?” the girl pressed on.

A few moments passed in silence as the boy lapsed into thought.

“Well, you have to fall in love” he answered.

“Are you in love now,” the girl asked.

The boy looked at her and thought for a moment. He gave a mischievous smile and held up her hand slowly. He placed the petal gently onto her palm and slowly closed her fingers over it.

“Perhaps.” The boy replied.

The girl turned abruptly and walked on. Unsure of a response. The warmth of the yellow petal in her left clenched fist has swept through her body. The night no longer felt cold and windy. It felt warm. It felt comfortable. It felt possible.

The boy followed a step behind, smiling to himself this time. He had managed to spark a conversation with the flutter of a petal.

Another breeze swept by. Warm yellow petals spiralled downward from the moonlit heavens and lit up the night in gold.