The keyboard was not made of plastic or metal, but of golden honey, warm and alive under the light. Each key shimmered softly, dripping slowly as if time itself had melted. Bees descended gently, fearless and focused, pressing the honeyed keys with delicate precision, their wings humming like a quiet melody of creation.

Among them, a woman’s fingers appeared — graceful, confident, crowned with beautiful nails. She touched the keyboard without hesitation, sharing the space with the bees, as if they had always worked together. Every press felt like a question, every drop of honey like an answer waiting to be written.

This was not just a keyboard.
It was a test of courage.
A bridge between nature and human creativity.

Only those brave enough to touch the sweetness — and accept the sting — could truly type the future.