He stares down at the flower in his hand, turning it this way and that as his mind wanders.
"Do you not like it?" she asks, voice light but weighted slightly with uncertainty.
"It is very...," he starts, words failing him as his mind keeps comparing it's beauty, it's unblemished perfection to her. Both are so misplaced in this city of steel.
"There are others if it doesn't please you," she adds, smiling and gesturing to her basket.
"No. This is the one I want," he murmurs before turning away, ignoring the slight frown his words bring to her face.