I wanted to witness a lotus bloom at sunrise.

So, for several days, I had been returning to the same quiet lake—sitting in still anticipation, just before dawn, wrapped in silence and a bit of childlike hope. There was something about the idea—a flower opening itself to light, not with force, but with grace—that called to me. On one of those mornings, as mist curled over the surface of the water like a secret unfolding, I saw it happen—not in an explosion, but in a gentle yielding. And in that hushed moment, something inside me softened.