Opaque Traditions

"I remember the scent of jasmine in your hair," she murmured, the garden walls a timeless witness to their embrace.

"Under the pale moonlight, even the stars envy our dance," he replied, his voice barely more than a breeze across the willow tree.

"Do you believe in the stories they tell about us?" she questioned, eyes sparkling with mischief and longing.

"In dreams we linger, where love eclipses the dawn," he whispered, holding her gaze like a glimmering secret.