She wasn’t trying to be seen - just sitting in the tall grass, letting the world be what it was. The morning wrapped her in light, and the breeze played with her hair.

The first butterfly came - silent, like a thought. Then another. They circled slowly, landing on her hands, her hair, as if they had always known her.

She didn’t move. She knew how to be still, how not to startle beauty.

It was one of those rare mornings when everything breathes in rhythm with you when you don’t need to speak to be understood. When even the butterflies know your name.