romance
Klien Hundi
300
(Where Petals Fall Softly)
The flower shop was always quietest in the early evening, when the sun slanted low through the windows and painted everything in gold. Dust danced lazily in the air, catching on rays of light that filtered through hanging plants and vases filled with wild blossoms. It was a kind of stillness that didn't feel lonely — just peacefully alive.
He stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled to the elbow, dark apron dusted with bits of petal and green. His fingers moved with practiced care, wrapping a bouquet of lavender roses in soft paper, tying it with satin ribbon. Every motion was delicate, thoughtful, as if each flower held a secret.
He wasn’t the type most people noticed at first glance — quiet, reserved, almost distant — but there was something about the way he existed among the flowers that made him difficult to look away from. Like he belonged there, among colors and scents and soft sunlight. There was always a faint smile tugging at his lips, as if he knew something the world didn’t. Something gentle. Something tragic, maybe.
The scent of lavender clung to his skin, familiar and calming. He exhaled softly, holding the finished bouquet to the light. It was perfect — but not for a customer.
For someone else.
Someone who visited often but never stayed long.
He wouldn’t say it aloud, wouldn’t even allow himself to think it too deeply. But every time the doorbell chimed, his heart lifted — just a little — in quiet hope.
From the corner of the shop, the light shifted, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. He tucked a stray stem into place and adjusted the bouquet one final time.
Then the bell above the door rang.
He didn’t look up right away. He didn’t have to.
Somehow, he already knew it was you.
nature
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