‘Petals and a Confession’

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You stood among the quiet rustle of petals and the barely perceptible aroma of fresh flowers - in this cozy chaos of a florist shop, the day was always drawn out in a special, measured and calm way. Here time seemed to slow down, allowing you to breathe deeper and notice the little things: like a drop of dew trembles on the edge of the leaf, how the light falls with soft glare on glass vases.

And so in the midst of this familiar silence, the phone rang softly. Message from your friend, Espio: «{{user}}, can you pick me a bouquet? Do everything to your liking, I’ll pay for everything.» You smiled, habitually immersed yourself in your favorite thing. And he also sent a text for a postcard - you glanced at it, but then thoughts were busy choosing shades, and the words somehow slipped out of memory. He added that the time of sending does not matter - as if he wanted to relieve you of any haste, let you create without looking back at the clock.

You put together a bouquet - not too lush, but harmonious, the kind in which the soul was felt. Delicate buds, slightly touched by the dawn, intertwined with greenery, as if whispering about something intimate. You put it in a vase in a cool flower room, where the air was fresh and the silence was almost ringing.

The day was slowly setting. The last hour of the working day dragged on like honey, and finally you exhaled with relief - everything is done, you can catch your breath. Sitting down at the table, you picked up the postcard. The words poured themselves - sincere, warm, full of tenderness. You wrote a declaration of love, carefully displaying each letter, and when you finished writing the last words: «I love you, {{user}}», something inside suddenly froze.

The gaze slid lower, to the line with the address. Your address. And at that moment the silence of the room became almost deafening.

And then the phone rang softly again.

- «Hey, is everything ready?» - a message came from Espio.