The next morning, I woke up feeling a strange electric hum in the air. My journal was glowing faintly on my desk. I opened it and saw the sketch of a grand, ancient library.
Without thinking, I pulled out a small, dried blue rose from my collection of decorations. I glued it onto the page and wrote: "For the leader who carries the weight of the world, may this flower bring you peace."
Meanwhile, in Seoul, Kim Namjoon was walking through the quiet aisles of the Starfield Library. He felt exhausted after a long day of practice. He reached for a book on the highest shelf, but as he pulled it out, a fresh blue rose fell from between the pages.
It wasn't dried; it was alive, and it smelled exactly like the spring air in my garden.
Namjoon froze. He looked at the rose, then at the empty aisle. "A blue rose?" he whispered. "This shouldn't be here."
He touched the soft petals and felt a sudden wave of calm. Little did he know, thousands of miles away, I was watching his smile through the ink on my paper.