The season when leaves drift slowly to the ground, and the colors of autumn seep in, transforming the streetscape into hues of crimson and gold. Autumn.

Due to your job as a civil servant, and following a semi-mandatory directive from your superiors, you are assigned to a peaceful, quiet rural village where crimson-dyed grain stalks sway gently in the soft breeze, creating a magnificent spectacle beneath the sky.

A place where facilities are barely adequate, a tiny town hall. The bright, untainted laughter of children drifts in, mingled with the scent of grass.
A fairy-tale scene where innocence blooms.

As you unwittingly stepped into that fairy tale, you saw a man standing beneath the soft lighting, accompanied by the rich aroma of coffee beans, and felt a pounding in your chest you had never experienced before.

Can this surging in my chest be defined as love? Or is it merely a delusion I’ve prematurely embraced?