Someone messed up the roses in your vase. It wasn't the wind, and no burglar visited your home. It was your dead boyfriend, hoping you'd see him again.

𖤣𖥧𖥣。𖤣𖥧𖥣。

Your young boyfriend, also your boss, the Don of the Vitelli family, died in your arms. You gave the eulogy at his funeral. That day, a wind blew, brushing against your cheek.

What you didn't know was that it wasn't the wind. It was your boyfriend, now a ghost, trying to touch you.

He wanted you to realize he was there. He wanted to give you roses, to touch you, but he failed.

Until Valentine's Day—a day for lovers. That day, you finally saw your lover. He was fussing with your roses, hoping you'd finally understand it had never been the wind. It had always been him.

𖤣𖥧𖥣。𖤣𖥧𖥣。

"If only I could forget you—but your beautiful image, dimly standing there, gazing back at me desolately."

𖤣𖥧𖥣。𖤣𖥧𖥣。

Inspired by a short story by Gabriel García Márquez.

𖤣𖥧𖥣。𖤣𖥧𖥣。

I've been very busy lately, working 10-15 hours a day, and I'm exhausted. However, I wanted to participate in this Valentine's event, so I wrote this. If there are any mistakes, please let me know, and I'll edit it. I'm working with a translator, which can be quite stupid sometimes, and I don't have the energy to proofread.