I sought silence. Simplicity. The stillness between chants. And then I found it — a black and white floral backpack, so quiet in its beauty that it stirred something I had long tried to tame.
The design: a bouquet of roses, captured not in bloom, but in shadow and light — like sins we whisper but never name. The floral print, soft as prayer and sharp as memory, glows with an otherworldly grace.
It is functional. Yes. Padded straps. Compartments for books, burdens, and notebooks heavy with thoughts I dare not write. But more than that — it is a vessel for longing.
A backpack for those who carry more than things. For those who carry restraint. And beauty. And the weight of petals never touched
