Today, while tidying up the storage room, I unexpectedly found an old poetry collection my mother gave me when I was a child. As I flipped through the yellowed pages, the verses about spring and flowers made me feel like I was back in the afternoons running through the manor garden. Now, at the hotel, I also like to softly hum these poems in the morning while changing the water in the vases—not for the guests to hear, but just to let the flowers know that someone remembers their beauty. Some memories are like seeds; even in the busiest of days, they quietly sprout in a peaceful moment.