My mind said one think, but I was just pulled to this place—maybe because I needed the air filled with something other than blood and steel.
But that wasn’t it. It was her. Something about Rachael made the silence inside me easier to bear—making me feel less oppressed by my own guilt.
There was something about her voice, the ease with which she spoke.
She never asked for more than I was willing to give. She never pushed or pried more than she needed to make conversations going with me.
She simply let me be—like she understood, letting me exist in the small world inside this shop’s sanctuary.
She’d talk about the flowers, her customers, little things that should’ve been unimportant—and yet, I listened.
Even I found myself pulled in all of this, making me remember the little things I used to appreciate before everything went wrong.
But, I listened because her voice made everything else dull in comparison.
I sat on the furthest end of the shop, close to the doors, where there had been a table with two seats opposite to each other, amongst the flowers, the warmth and her.
I sat there, skimming through a few documents I’d been given by the guild officials to look over pertaining the mission in a few days. I sat silently, not making any noise, before I was approached by slow steps and I heard a soft clink of porcelain over the wooden surface of the table that drew my eyes up.
Rachael set a steaming cup of coffee in front of me, sliding it across the table with that soft smile of hers.
I smelled the faint aroma of coffee beans linger in the air mixed with the lingering smell of fresh lavender.
I lifted my gaze from the cup and looked at the girl standing in front of me, a beaming smile over her face.
“Have some coffee, you look tired.” She said, sliding the cup a little closer.
I accepted the cup, but didn’t drink the coffee.
She inclined her head, curiosity blooming on her face. “You don’t drink coffee?” She asked, adjusting her apron and wiping her hands off of it.
“No, it’s...” I paused, my gaze stopped on her for a moment, trying to piece my words together. “I don’t particularly hate it, but I tend to drink herbal tea. Somehow, the taste and aroma calms me down.”
She raised her brows in acknowledgement, her face blooming in thought. ”I guess I learnt something new about you today, Shun.”
“Hmm,” I nodded my head, taking another document in hand and reading it. I continued to read, but she stood there, from the corner of my eye I saw there weren’t many customers today.
I laid the document down on the table. “Is there something you need?” I asked calmly, unsure what she wanted.
She turned and slowly took the seat opposite me. Her hair was tied in a loose braid, resting over her shoulder, her azure eyes followed me, I took hold of the rim of the cup and sipped the coffee.
My brows knitted as I sipped the bitter coffee, keeping my eyes on the rim of the cup, letting the silence stretch. The taste still clung to my tongue, sharp and unforgiving.
Then she smiled, leaning forward just slightly. “I’ll prepare herbal tea for you next time, then. Something calming. You don’t seem like the coffee type anyway.”
My gaze lifted from the cup to her. “Next time?”
Her smile widened, a light chuckle slipping out. “Well, you’ve been coming here for a few days now—you’ve become an active customer. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
I let her words hang in the air, unreadable, though something shifted faintly in my chest. “...Maybe not.”
She tilted her head, watching me with that same gentle interest she always carried. “You don’t have to tell me why. I just thought...if you’re going to sit here and work, you might as well drink something you like.”
I lowered the cup, setting it down quietly on the table. “You’re awfully considerate of someone you barely know.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged, her braid slipping off her shoulder. “Or maybe I just think people deserve small comforts. Even strangers.”
I didn’t know what to say next, this was our usual thing, whenever I came here, I mainly stayed near the entrance of the shop, but three days back, she had invited me inside and showed me this corner she had set up only recently, letting customers enjoy the view of the well-decorated shop, and somehow, I always found comfortable being here since I’d found this place.
It felt quiet, away from all those battles and death. A place I could let the armour fall and rest for a bit.
Her eyes followed me and then went to the mess I’d made on the table.
“You come by everyday and just work. What are you even working on?” She asked, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
I glanced at the cup, then back at my notes. After a thought, I let the words slip. “Mission details.”
Her brows lifted. “Mission? I didn’t know you were a hunter.”
I took a sip of the coffee. Bitter. “You never asked.”
For a moment, she just sat there, her lips parting like she wanted to say something else, but instead she folded her arms and leaned back on the chair. Her eyes lingered, thoughtful, like she was measuring me against something she hadn’t noticed before.
“Well,” she said at last with a small shrug, “what kind of mission is it?”
“Official business,” I replied, voice even. No reason to give more than that.
Her gaze flickered to the papers, then back to me, curiosity written all over her face. But she didn’t push. Instead, she let out a soft chuckle and shook her head. “You really don’t give much away, do you?”
I didn’t answer, just kept drinking the coffee she’d made. Still, the warmth in her eyes felt louder than anything either of us had said.
Then she asked a question, sudden, but not rushed. “Then, what rank are you?”
I sighed, but not in frustration, but somehow, holding even a decent conversation left me feeling awkward.
Without another thought I answered. “I am officially registered as an
“Really?” She muttered, her excitement palpable. “That’s so cool. This might be the first time an
Her smile seemed to bloom, her eyes looked genuinely filled with interest.
Out of curiosity, I asked, “You seem oddly interested in hunters?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Who wouldn’t be? Hunters were admired everywhere—people with power that defied the natural order.
She tilted her head, lips quirking. “Well…because I am one too.”
I blinked, letting the words sink in.
I corrected my expression quickly, not letting the surprise linger on. I did feel mana coming from her, but it wasn’t on a rank that I didn’t have to take notice of.
I focused on the traces of her mana, feeling the mana that lingered on her fingers—refined inside her body.
It wasn’t something a combatant would have, then the only thing I could come to was...she wasn’t into the hunter business, living a normal life despite being awakened.
Rachael lifted a hand, brushing her braid over her shoulder as if bracing herself. “Not officially, though. I never registered with the Union, I was stopped by Auntie Asteria. But, I’m an emitter, I think that’s what they call people who can heal. That’s my ability.”
I studied her, and she studied me right back.
She had a unique ability. Emitters were rare to come by, but, they weren’t scarce. And their healing capacity heavily depended on their potential and rank too.
“But, being a hunter isn’t all fun,” I muttered, voice even, somewhat sad. “There are plenty who make bad choices even with the title. Like how the world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.”
Her expression shifted—playful now. She crossed her left arm and pressed her right hand against her slender bicep, flexing as though to show off. “Yeah? Well, even I can knock them a peg down if I wanted to. Emitters aren’t all that weak, I’ll have you know. We might not have the muscles, but even we are hunters.”
For a moment, I just stared, caught off guard by the sudden bravado. Then, against my better judgment, a sound slipped out of me—a low laugh, sharp and brief.
Something I didn’t expect I could still make.
Her lips parted, Rachael froze for a passing moment, eyes widening as if I’d just performed some kind of miracle. “...That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh. I seem to see many unexpected things today.” She added with a smile, her laugh evident in the warm atmosphere of the shop.
I shook my head, looking away, the ghost of it still tugging at my mouth.
Rachael had always been the one to start and hold conversations with me, my part always consisted of answering her questions sometimes or just being quiet. But, even I felt surprised by my sudden reaction today.
Before she could say something, the bell at the entrance chimed and a few customers came in, a child with his mother, an old man, a little rugged but with a kind smile, and a lady with a few shopping bags.
“Guess that’s my cue. Take your time.” She said, taking off to help the customers, her back turned to me as she approached the counter as the line formed.
I thought about going back to my assignment, but I couldn’t help but let my thoughts and gaze linger on her.
My eyes lingered on her back—warm, gentle, unshaken—as she helped all three at once, asking their preference on which kind of flowers they wanted.
I sighed, leaning into the chair, I looked around the little shop of flowers, delicate colours filling the air with a peace that felt…borrowed. Out there, beyond these walls, the world wasn’t kind.
Hunters walk through it, blood on their hands, shadows at their heels. Some call it duty. Others called it survival. I’ve called it both. But in the end…it’s just killing, isn’t it? I thought, feeling a knot form inside my chest.
Taking lives so the scales tilt slightly in our favour. And no matter how much you fight, no matter how strong you become, the world never softens. It only grows sharper, crueller.
Our fight wasn’t just against the demons, we had to fight the threat of monster that breached our world through the gates, and the hunters who betrayed us in the pursuit of power.
I felt angry, looking down at the callouses on my palm, a few scars that were hidden well under the sleeves of my shirt.
Master…Percy…I couldn’t keep either of you. I told myself it’s the way of things—that in this life, we’re meant to bury more faces than we can remember. But when she smiled like that, as if the world’s weight didn’t exist…it hurt. Because I remembered that I once believed in something brighter, too.
And it slipped through my fingers. Maybe I wasn’t meant to sit here, not meant to feel this warmth clawing at the walls I’ve built. Hunters don’t belong among flowers. We only ever leave dirt behind.
Maybe...I was just trying to grapple with that guilt and sorrow. But, I didn’t want to drag Rachael into this...I always tried to keep my distance, but I felt it slipping whenever I was here.
I was in deep thought when I realised my phone had began to ring, I took it out and looked at the screen.
It was Morris. I had talked to him a few days ago, after I’d arrived in London, our conversation had been brief, but he had been keeping tabs on me, and always checked on me once in a few days.
I looked back at Rachael, she was still occupied with the customers so I decidedly to silently slip out of the shop. The door behind closed, the soft chime of the bell rang once. The cold atmosphere outside was a contrast to the warm inside, I answered his call, speaking into the phone.
***
Rachael Everly
The last customer finally left, the shop bell chiming softly behind them, and I let out a small sigh of relief as I wiped my hands on my apron. It had been busier than I expected today, but I didn’t mind the work. What I did mind, however, was glancing at the corner where Shun had been sitting only to find the chair empty.
My lips curled down before I even realized it, a little pout tugging at me. He didn’t even say goodbye? Typical. He slips in and out like a shadow, as though the world never deserves more than his presence in passing. Still, I couldn’t stop the faint sting of disappointment that lingered in my chest. I found myself staring at the door, foolishly expecting the bell to ring again and for him to come back, maybe mutter some half-hearted excuse about being in a rush.
But, why did I even except such a thing? I knew we were strangers to one another, but we had grown a little bit closer as acquaintances in the past few days, and I had found out he wasn’t as cold as he made himself to be.
To be honest, he was kind of childish and fun to be around in a way. And teasing him was just so easy.
But, he had said so little, yet each word weighed on me. A hunter. I would never have guessed. He carried himself like someone accustomed to silence, to bearing more than he’d ever say aloud. When I asked, he had simply told me I’d never asked. And it was true. Somehow, I hadn’t wanted to.
To not cross the line he had built. Somehow, I was afraid even, to cross that line.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
The pout left my face as I settled on to the seat, moving my finger over the edges of the finished cup of coffee.
“You jerk.” I said, feeling slightly irked for some reason, resting my chin on my palm.
But still, when I was working, I could feel his gaze on me, that same sad gaze that I seem to catch from him whenever he stepped in. That look…it made my chest tighten in ways I didn’t quite understand.
I couldn’t ignore what lingered between Shun and me. Every time I glanced at him, there was this unspoken weight in his gaze, like he was caught between staying and leaving. Between wanting to reach out and forcing himself not to.
And I hated how much that look made me want him to stay.
Perhaps, I was just pitying a man when he didn’t even need it...but, I couldn’t stop the way my chest had tightened when I had heard that fragile laugh hidden behind that wall.
And as if the universe wanted to mock me, the door did chime after a second later. My heart lifted for a foolish second, but when I turned, it wasn’t him.
“Auntie Asteria!” I greeted with an eagerness I hadn’t expected.
The woman—barely in her late forties—stepped inside with that same steady grace she always carried, her red hair—now streaked with strands of silver—tied back neatly. She wasn’t someone who carried the brilliance of mana in her veins, like many I had seen pass through town. She was ordinary in every sense of the world. And yet, to me, she was more radiant than most people I’d met.
She was more of a mother figure to me after my late mother had passed away when I was young. She’d been with me as long as I could remember, like a shadow I’d grown used to. I missed her presence now, though I’d never admit it, and she would tease the heck out of me if I ever said that out loud.
She caught the way I’d looked at the door, though, and smirked knowingly. “Are you that excited to see me, little flower? Or were you expecting someone else?”
I turned away quickly, fussing with the porcelain in my hand to hide the faint flush on my cheeks. “Don’t tease me. You know you’re always welcome here. You’re practically a co-owner of this shop.”
Her laugh was warm, familiar, the kind that felt like home. She came closer, brushing her fingers along the petals of a bouquet I had been arranging earlier. “I’m glad to hear that. Still, you should see your face. Eyes shining like a girl waiting for her sweetheart.”
I puffed my cheeks a little in protest, half pouting, half laughing. “You’re impossible, Auntie.” I said, taking the cup with me to the inside of the shop and setting it down near the sink, as I returned right away.
Her amusement had softened, and then her gaze gentled in a way that always managed to cut past the smile I wore and see the thoughts I didn’t voice. “Rachael dear, it’s already that time of the year.” She said, carefully handling a pot which held white chrysanthemums, placing it down and looking back at me, sorrow tinged in her eyes. “The anniversary is coming soon, isn’t it?”
My chest tightened at her words. I swallowed, setting the ribbon I’d been holding back onto the counter. “Yes…the start of next week.”
She reached across and touched my hand, her own warm and worn with years of work and life. “Take the day off, as always. Go see her. She’d want to know her daughter is still smiling.”
I nodded faintly, though a shadow had already crept across my heart. I hated this time of year—not because I didn’t want to remember her, but because remembering always reminded me of how much I had lost.
Asteria gave my hand a gentle squeeze, then leaned back with a soft sigh. “And don’t forget…the order from the royal family will be arriving as well. Penelope’s birthday banquet. They’ll want only the best from your hands.”
Her words dropped like stones in water, ripples pulling at me. “I will take care of the orders on the day of the anniversary, so take your time that day. You ought to have at least that day to yourself, and for her sake.”
My face stiffened, lips pressing into a thin line as I forced myself to breathe evenly. The royal family. The palace. The weight of that name alone always brought with it a storm I tried not to let anyone see.
“I know,” I murmured, perhaps a little too curtly. My tone betrayed me, my expression tightening despite myself.
She caught it, of course. Auntie Asteria always caught it. But she didn’t pry, not directly. She had been my only family I could rely on, even after my mother’s death, she stepped up and took care of me. And, even I had found out about it coincidentally, about my mother’s history, about those palace wretches—about the bitter connection I had with that family—those people who drove my mother to her death.
I hated them...I felt my teeth grit in anger, but I hid it well.
Instead, she just patted my cheek like she used to when I was younger. “You’ll manage, Rachael. You always do. You are strong just like your mother—Iris would be proud of you. She always was.”
I tried to smile, but it felt brittle. Inside, I couldn’t shake the strange heaviness that came with her reminder—like two shadows converging. My mother’s death anniversary…and the royal family’s order. Two reminders of worlds I couldn’t seem to escape, no matter how much I tried to live quietly here, in this little shop of mine.
But I only nodded, because what else could I do?
It was only when I turned ten did the palace orders start arriving, that they requested flowers from our shop for the inner and most important decorations for the king’s daughter, Penelope Von Alexanderias’s birthday.
They started requesting the flowers starting from my mother’s anniversary, and until the event was over.
And each year, Auntie Asteria was the one to delivery the order while I made the preparations with her.
Why can’t they order from someone else? Why us? Why every year on this day of all days?
This was a selfish request, and we had to comply to some end, gritting my teeth as I prepared those flowers for them...the king was a coward, even in my mother’s death, he wanted to mock her and me.
I clenched the ribbon in my hand, feeling my nails dig into my skin.
He always requested a bouquet of flowers that were mother’s favourite, sent directly to him on the day of her anniversary...
I had to prepare flowers for a man who was the reason my mother had passed away, and all I could do was comply while gritting my teeth.
That’s why I hated people like those. Just because they had some power, they ought to abuse it and make others miserable.
***
Shun
I stepped into the bustling crowd on the streets, narrowly avoiding bumping shoulders with the passers-by civilians.
I threaded along the path that I was already accustomed to by now, the main road, which then let to the square and from there, the long street where all the shops and vendors were.
And among them, my gaze fixed on to a small shop—a flower shop tucked between two modest stone buildings. A small quaint space I had found and could relax in for some reason...
I slowed my pace, the familiar painted sign rocking lightly in the breeze. I didn’t even need to look inside to know what waited there—the faint scent of flowers was already in the air, pulling me in like it always did.
And yet…I hesitated.
The last I’d been here, I walked out too suddenly. No explanation, no parting words—just the bell jingling behind me as I left Rachael standing there as she tended to the customers. General Morris’ call had been urgent, sure, but that didn’t make it any less rude. Now, all I could think about was the look she must’ve had after I left. Confused? Annoyed? Maybe both.
Morris had called me to report about by current operations and report about my team’s situation just to keep me updated. But, hours had passed since then and the sky was dusk now, leaving me busy with reports and things regarding the upcoming missions.
I rubbed at my jaw, trying to piece together some excuse. Urgent orders. Some personal matter. Some other nonsense. None of it sounded convincing. And really, who was I kidding? Rachael wasn’t the type I could fool with half-baked words.
But why did I feel guilty for leaving her like that, without a word? She’d once said we were just acquaintances, nothing more. And yet, every time I thought of her, there was that small sting in my chest. Maybe I had already grown fond of her…more than I cared to admit. And whenever she tried to push me away, I pulled back instead—afraid that getting closer might hurt her.
Maybe that was all it was—pity. The kind of soft smile you give someone who looks like they’re carrying too much. Rachael was kind, yes…but she’d said it herself before: people deserve small comforts. Even strangers. She probably meant it, too. And yet, knowing that didn’t make the sting in my chest any lighter. Because every time she showed me that kindness, I wanted to believe it was more than that.
Through the shop window, I caught sight of her—moving between the vases, adjusting flowers with that quiet focus of hers. Every motion was deliberate, gentle, like the petals might bruise if she pressed too hard. It was such a simple thing, but for some reason it made my chest tighten.
I’ve faced down generals, demons, entire squads without blinking. But standing outside a florist’s door, I felt like some kid trying to rehearse his lines. Ridiculous.
I let out a sharp breath, contemplating whether to enter or not, my hand resting over the handle hesitantly and then I pushed the door open. The bell chimed overhead, and the familiar warmth and fragrance of the shop wrapped around me.
The bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside.
Rachael looked up at me immediately, her eyes flicking over me before she turned away just as quickly. No teasing remark, no sly smile this time. Just silence.
The shift was so sharp I almost stopped in my tracks. Normally she’d have some quip waiting, something light to throw me off-balance. Instead, she smoothed her apron and went back to arranging a row of small pots near the counter.
My eyes flickered around the shop in awkwardness, and went behind the counter, I registered another woman, her red hair were streaked with silver strands, but she still looked young for her old age. She lifted her eyes from her ledger, her gaze lingered on me, sharp with curiosity and amusement she didn’t voice, before she returned to her work, but her smile didn’t vanish, like she was enjoying all of this, and had figured something was going on.
Perhaps, she was someone Rachael knew, someone that helped her with the shop.
I hesitated, then moved toward the little corner table she’d shown me a few days ago. My usual spot. The place I told myself I could think clearly, even though right now I felt anything but. I set my notes down, but the paper blurred, my gaze dragging back to her.
A customer came in right after me—a young woman carrying a basket. Rachael’s whole posture shifted. Bright smile, warm tone, soft laughter at something the woman said. I sat there, listening to it all like I wasn’t even in the room.
She ignored me. Completely.
I tapped the table with my fingers, then again. My throat tightened in the silence between us, and for reasons I couldn’t name, I felt like some lost cat left outside the door. I wasn’t used to this—not the silence itself, but the fact that it was hers.
I felt these emotions that I had grown unaccustomed to. Somehow, that made the sting in my chest sharper, like I had actually messed up this time.
From the counter, the older woman with streaked red hair glanced up from her ledger again, her eyes moving between me and Rachael as her grin widened before she returned to work once again.
I leaned back in my chair, trying not to watch Rachael too openly as she bent toward the customer, her braid slipping over her shoulder. She was deliberately busy, I could tell. Deliberately not looking at me.
And yet—when the customer finally left, I caught it. That fleeting flicker on her lips as she turned away. A smile. The kind you try to hide when you’re winning some private game.
Relief washed through me so suddenly I had to exhale slow, controlled, as though I could fool even myself.
But just as our eyes met the next moment, her expression shifted into a cold one, like she was pretending to be angry.
She was giving me the cold shoulder, yes. But not because she wanted me gone. No—because she knew I’d stayed.
I shifted my gaze down, forcing it onto the stack of papers I had brought along, the mission documents I hadn’t cared to open until now. Lines and numbers blurred together as I stared too hard at them, trying to convince myself I could make sense of it all if I just focused.
The soft clink of porcelain broke through after a few moments later. I looked up, and there she was, sliding a cup across the table toward me. Tea—just tea, nothing fancy. Not coffee, though. She remembered. My chest tightened again, though differently this time.
Her eyes didn’t meet mine as she set it down. There was still that distance, but it wasn’t the same kind of distance that hurts. I stood almost on instinct, the chair scraping lightly against the floor as I straightened. The words felt like gravel in my throat, but I forced them out.
“I’m sorry,” I said, low but steady enough.
Rachael looked up the moment I said. Her eyes flicked over me, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“On what?” She said, her tone dry, but not unkind.
I froze for half a second. Of course she’d have something to say. I deserved it.
I just stood there, a few paces away from her, looking down at her, her hair tied into the same familiar braid, her azure eyes locked over me.
I cleared my throat, trying to sound less awkward than I felt. “I…left in a hurry. Something came up. But—” My hand rubbed the back of my neck on its own—a gesture I was used to when I felt awkward. “I didn’t mean to leave like that. I should’ve said something.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, the glint in her eyes making me feel like I’d just walked into a trap. “So here you are. Should I be flattered, or is this your way of asking me to forgive you?”
Her words were playful, but masked beneath her irk, but I caught the warmth beneath it all. The tiniest flicker of expectation, like the fact that I came back…mattered to her.
And for the first time in a long while, I realized I was glad I did. I was glad I was able to not let go of something that had started to matter to me.
She crossed her arms, her brows risen slightly, taking a step forward as I pulled back a little.
Her lips parted, but no sound came at first—like she was weighing whether to scold me or let the silence speak. “You…don’t get it do you,” she finally said, her voice steadier than I expected. There was a faint tightness in it, though, the kind you hear when someone’s been holding their breath for too long.
“I should be angry,” she added, eyes flicking away for a moment. “You disappear, no word, and then just…show up like nothing happened.” Her shoulders eased with the sigh that followed, the edge softening into something almost fragile. “But…I’m glad you did. But that doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
Her eyes lingered on me for a breath before flicking away.
From behind the counter, the older woman’s voice floated over, half amused, half scolding. “Well, don’t just stand there looking like a lost pup, boy. You should be on your knees for forgiveness after disappearing like that. My niece isn’t one to forgive someone that easily.”
Rachael’s shoulders stiffened for a moment, then she let out a quiet breath. I thought I caught the faintest flicker of colour rising on her cheeks before she turned, brushing past me toward the counter.
“Well, I can’t have my regulars vanish like that,” she added with a soft huff, the corners of her lips tugging upward as if she was trying not to smile, but I caught it.
The casual swing in her step said one thing, but the warmth in her words felt assuring.
For the first time since stepping in, I felt my shoulders loosen—relief sneaking in quietly as I watched her talk, like maybe I hadn’t ruined everything after all.
Afterward, I went by to sit in my usual spot, my chest eased now. I continued to work, but, I could feel my eyes move to her.
She was tending to the flowers, making bouquets, handling the customers that came in tow, and I felt relieved.
By closing time, the shop grew quiet. I stood up, stretching slightly. Rachael sat by the counter, scribbling something in a small notebook. The woman—her aunt, Asteria, as I’d heard—had gone out for the day, so it was just her now.
I walked over, hesitant. “…You’re not mad anymore?”
Her eyes flicked up, a calmness in them that still carried a hint of sternness. “That depends.” She set her pen down and folded her arms. “If you don’t want me to be cold, then maybe a simple ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ wouldn’t hurt.”
I gave a small nod, the corner of my lips twitching upward. “…Fair enough.”
For a moment, silence stretched between us. My eyes wandered over the shop again, settling on the bouquets displayed neatly across the counter. Curiosity itched at me, something I had brushed aside until now.
“…These flowers,” I asked, “they…mean something, don’t they?”
That earned the faintest smile from her, one that softened her whole face. “Of course. Flowers have their own language.” She picked one from a vase nearby, a delicate carnation, and held it out to me. “This one, for example, stands for admiration.”
I took it carefully, her words stirring something faintly familiar deep inside me.
“Want me to teach you?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost playful.
I looked at her, at the way she held herself with both distance and warmth. Slowly, I nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Her smile lingered as she set another flower between us, and I knew this was the start of something—something that felt both new and strangely distant for someone like me.
My hands tucked awkwardly into my pockets, I listened as she spoke, both of us moved between vases and different flowers that were growing inside the shop, her voice carrying a light, almost melodic quality.
“These here are marigolds—they represent warmth and passion,” she said, gesturing to a bundle of bright orange blooms. “And over here, these lilies symbolize purity and renewal.”
I watched her fingers glide gently over the petals, her eyes shining with a quiet passion I couldn’t help but admire. “You know a lot about them…the way you’re into flowers, it’s kind of beautiful.” I murmured, feeling the words slip out before I could stop myself.
Rachael turned to me with an amused smile. “Yes. My mother used to love tending to flowers and this is her shop. Naturally, I grew to love them too. It feels like a way to keep her with me.”
Just as she said her expression shifted slightly, a quiet sorrow visible in her eyes, leaving a pang to cave in my chest. I didn’t ask further, because I knew what she was feeling, what that expression meant...I knew well enough how it felt to remember someone you had lost.
Perhaps, there were complications...but I didn’t ponder further. If she didn’t want to share anymore, then I respected her decision.
For a moment I looked at her, hesitated. Learning about flowers felt...odd. Unfitting, even. But when I met her gaze, warm and expectant, I found myself nodding, albeit reluctantly.
Her smile drew me in, and I couldn’t pull back this time, I listened attentively, like I did when I was focusing before assigned a mission.
“Let’s start with the first five easiest to remember,” she said cheerfully, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Sunflowers—they symbolize adoration and loyalty. They’re always turning to the sun, you know? Then we have roses, which can mean a lot of things depending on their colour, but red ones stand for love.”
She moved on to the next bouquet, her enthusiasm unwavering. “Jasmine represents purity and grace, while lycoris flowers...they’re a bit bittersweet. They symbolize lost memories and goodbyes. And lastly, pansies—they mean remembrance and thoughtful reflection.”
I listened quietly, nodding along as I took in each meaning, the words settling somewhere deep within me. I hadn’t realized it, but a thin smile had formed on my lips—small at first, then gradually widening as something in her explanations struck a chord inside me.
Rachael noticed, her expression softening as she pointed it out with a teasing lilt in her voice. “This is the first time I’ve seen you smile that openly. Your smile looks...gentle. You should smile more, Shun.”
Her cheerful smile felt almost infectious, and I found myself questioning something I’d long since buried—Was I worthy of smiling again? Did I even deserve to?
I caught myself wondering, almost bitterly, if I was even allowed to smile anymore. Did someone like me—stained by failures I couldn’t wash off—have the right to feel that lightness again? The thought felt almost obscene, and yet it clung to me in the quiet moments, whenever I lingered here longer than I should have.
As the evening light slipped lazily through the shop window, painting her hair in soft gold, Rachael tilted her head and looked at me with a faint, teasing smile, a yellow Iris in her hand.
“You know…when you first came to the shop, you reminded me of a scared cat,” she said, her tone playful, but softer than usual. “Always ready to dart away, but still hanging around if someone’s patient enough. It makes you look…cute, in a way.”
The word hung between us. Cute.
I should’ve brushed it off, maybe even scoffed at the absurdity. But instead, I just stood there, staring at her longer than I should have, the quiet warmth in her eyes prying open a lock I didn’t even know I still carried.
That evening, for the first time in what felt like years, I didn’t feel the weight pressing quite as hard against my chest. It wasn’t freedom—not yet—but the beginning of something I hadn’t thought possible. The start of a bridge, slowly built, that might one day lead me back to myself.