Swedish: Midsommarblomster

English: Wood cranesbill

Fadime's dress, decorated in a pattern of pink roses and golden hearts, billows around her ankles as we swiftly make our way away from the cottage and toward the fields below. The purple sheen of the setting sun illuminates our journey, turning the world into a dusky magical meadow.

Right before climbing over the old wooden fence made of slanted sticks, a gärdsgård, I halt, remembering my grandma's words from so many years ago. "We need to be quiet," I whisper, afraid the night will hear me, even if we haven't started our trek yet.

Fadime looks at me with confusion. "So they won't hear us?" she asks, nodding toward the cottage where my supposed friends are continuing the Midsummer party.

"No," I reply. "I mean, maybe that too, but it's part of the magic, I guess. We need to be completely quiet while we pack the seven flowers."

Nodding, as if my statement makes perfect sense, Fadime pulls a hand through her unruly hair, gathering it into a ponytail with a tie from her wrist. She makes a zipping motion across her lips, giving me a wink to confirm her dedication to the magic of the tale.

I reach my hand toward her, pulling her with me across the barrier to the blooming field. It feels like we step into another world, one where fairytales can come true. Right on the other side, the first flower stands, purple and delicate with dew-covered petals.

Midsummer bloom it's called. A fitting first flower in the midsummer bouquet. I snap the stem close to the dirt, holding the flower up toward Fadime with a triumphant smile.