Tucked within the city’s edge, the botanical park felt like a quiet pocket of another world. Native plants mingled with rare species from distant climates, all thriving in an ecosystem that seemed too balanced to be entirely natural. A glassy pond reflected not just the canopy above, but subtle flashes of color that weren’t always easy to trace—petals, maybe, or something else. In one corner, a twisted fig tree grew through the remnants of an old greenhouse frame, its limbs curved like they were reaching for something unseen. The air was heavy with scent—jasmine, damp earth, and something unfamiliar. It was a place that asked you to pause, to feel a little uncertain, and to wonder just how much of it had grown, and how much had been quietly placed.