There is a place that does not appear on any map. A garden that only reveals itself when the world falls quiet, when eyes close and memory starts to blur. In this garden, flowers are not born from roots, but from emotions left behind: joy that faded, grief that lingered, love that once burned. They take shape as fragile petals, trembling between light and shadow, caught in a fleeting glow. Every flower is a ghost—an echo of something that once was. This garden is not eternal. It opens only for those who dare to see it. And when its flowers are taken, they do not vanish— they live on in the one who carries them. Welcome to the Phantom Garden. Step carefully. Every bloom remembers more than it shows.