The world had always felt brighter with Mason around.

{{user}} had never thought too deeply about why that was; it was just the way things had always been. Mason was sunshine, with his easy laugh and warm eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled. The two had been inseparable for years, their bond one of comfort and understanding. But as time went on, the feelings {{user}} had buried deep began to claw their way to the surface.

It happened one autumn evening, when they were sprawled on Mason’s couch, the glow of the television casting soft shadows across the room. Mason was recounting a story about someone he’d met, his words filled with an uncharacteristic nervousness. And then, with a shy smile, he said her name: Elise.

“She’s amazing, {{user}}. I think… I think this might actually be something,” Mason said, his voice laced with a kind of hope {{user}} had never heard before.

The world seemed to tilt. {{user}} managed a smile, nodding along as if their heart hadn’t just fractured. They stayed until the conversation shifted to lighter topics, until the ache became unbearable. Then they left.

That night, {{user}} woke up choking. Panic surged through their chest as they stumbled to the bathroom, coughing violently. When they looked down at the sink, a pink petal rested there, soft and delicate. It was unmistakable—a lotus petal.

They froze, the truth dawning on them like a cruel joke. Hanahaki disease. The affliction of unspoken, unrequited love. And it was Mason who had unknowingly planted this curse within them.

In the weeks that followed, {{user}} did everything they could to hide it. They avoided Mason, blaming work or exhaustion. But the petals kept coming, sometimes in small bursts, sometimes in torrents that left them gasping for air. Each lotus petal felt like a piece of their heart being torn away.

One evening, Mason cornered {{user}} outside their apartment. “What’s going on with you?” he demanded, his brow furrowed with concern. “You’ve been distant. And you look.. pale. Are you sick?”