"You'll see," Chan responded with a small smile as he turned off the engine and exited the car. You followed, holding your breath when you turned to where he was standing.
Before you, a meadow of sunflowers stretched to the horizon, almost kissing the setting sun. The flowers were already facing the east, expecting sunrise as the remaining light filtered between their petals. It cast a warm, orange hue on the field, and the sunflowers looked like burning flames. Suns of their own.
"Isn't it pretty?" Chan murmured beside you and you inhaled contentedly, letting the tranquility of the place seep into your skin and settle in your heart, "It's beautiful."
He smiled, finding your hand and lacing his fingers with yours. Chan supposed he had a lot in common with the attentive sunflowers. Just like them, he followed his sun. He followed you. Wherever he was, he'd find you, and he'd bask in your generous light.
Sunflowers needed the sun to live — he needed you. Without the sun, the flowers would shrivel up and die. So would his soul, if you were to ever step out of his life. His summer would last decades as long as you were there.
Just like the brown and yellow florets, he'd face east, anticipating your arrival after a short absence. He'd wait, as those flowers would, each night, each hour, each minute he was away from you. Until he could hold you again, follow your light to the horizon.
He'd never get tired of smiling up to the sky, finding you again and again. Wasn't that life for a simple flower in a vast meadow?
Stepping on the dirt road, with you by his side and the graceful flowers around him, Chan's heart fluttered. For he was, indeed, a sunflower, and you were his sun.
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