A chance rose, spotted at an exhibition among various beauties and given with love. A chance book with roses, found among the bustling streets of Barcelona and conceived to tell about the invention of love. A chance love, born in a doomed plot, painted with the tenderness of a rose and the will of a bird.

And what if you invented love — what would it be like?

Would it dream in the tickle of silk petals or wake you sharply to life? Would it be cozy-warm or cravingly fresh? Would it have the will of a wild bird or, through years and distances, remain faithful to a single dawn? Would it happen once and forever or be created anew each day?