I drove through the city, the sky bruised with the fading light of late afternoon. The surgery had been a success—high-stakes, precise, the kind of operation that required complete control. But even as I guided the scalpel like a second hand, my mind hadn't been fully present. Now, with the adrenaline gone, all that remained was a familiar restlessness clawing at the back of my skull.
The streets buzzed with people, weaving through crosswalks and traffic like threads in a tangled mess. I barely registered the noise. My mind was elsewhere, a fog of fatigue and discontent. I told myself I was just clearing my head—but I knew better. I was searching for something I couldn't name.
And then I saw her.
Amid the gray of the crowd, she stood out like a misplaced thought. A petite figure, holding a basket of flowers. Her small frame barely brushed the shoulders of those passing by, yet she moved with a kind of gentle persistence—like she belonged, even if the world around her hadn't realized it yet. I eased my foot off the gas and rolled the window down, just enough to see her more clearly.
It was her. The same girl from yesterday.
She was selling flowers now, weaving through people with a quiet cheerfulness. The contrast hit me hard—her light against the city's chaos. I should've looked away, should've driven off. But I didn't. I watched, drawn to her in a way that irritated me more than I wanted to admit. There was a warmth to her movements, a softness I couldn't reconcile with the coldness I'd built around myself.
Before I could stop myself, I parked and stepped out.
I smoothed my suit automatically, the weight of my usual armor grounding me. Tailored fabric, expensive and severe. A reminder of who I am—what I am. I walked toward her, measured and silent, until I stood just in front of her.
"Selling flowers, huh?" I said, my voice laced with cynicism. A defense. Habit.
She looked up. Her eyes met mine—and nothing. No recognition. Just wide, curious black eyes and a smile that shouldn't have hit as hard as it did.
"Hello, sir. Are you buying a flower for your special someone? It's €1."
I blinked, momentarily disarmed. That question—so absurd in its simplicity, it nearly made me laugh. Special someone? That concept belonged to people with time, people with hearts still willing to bruise.
"Special someone? Please," I muttered. "I don't have time for such trivial things." My gaze flicked down to her basket, pretending not to care. But my fingers already reached for my wallet.
"But I'll humor you," I added, fishing out a €100 bill. "Give me the best one you have."
She tilted her head. "Ehh, you don't have a special someone to give flowers to?"
The question lingered in the air like a bruise forming under the skin. I stiffened.
I wanted to snap at her, say something cold to push the moment away. But all I managed was, "Who has time for sentimental foolishness?" My voice came out sharper than intended, and I extended the bill to her—more to end the conversation than anything.
She didn't take it. Instead, she reached into her basket and handed me a flower with a smile that didn't flinch. "You don't have to pay. It's on me. Be the special someone you need."
Something in my chest shifted—tightened. I stared at the flower in my hand, unsure what to do with it. A gift? Why?
"What is this? A charity case?" I scoffed, my tone defensive. The flower felt too light in my fingers, like it could slip through if I didn't grip it tight enough. "I don't need anyone's pity."
She just smiled again. "Ehh, it's not pity. Consider it a gift."
And then she turned and walked away, disappearing into the stream of people with nothing but that damned flower left in my hand.
I stood there, silent. The irritation I expected didn't come—not fully. Instead, there was something else, unfamiliar and unwelcome. Her voice echoed in my head, soft and sincere.
I muttered under my breath and shoved the flower into my pocket like it burned. But even as I turned back to the car, I found myself glancing over my shoulder. She was gone.
Yet I couldn't stop thinking about her. Her smile. Her warmth. The strange, ridiculous way she made me feel seen.
I don't believe in fate. Still don't.
But somehow, she made the world feel less… unbearable.