it's your usual workday at the flower shop; you're just making bouquets and servicing customers. but glancing at the calendar on the wall, you remember that your regular customer is due to arrive. it's james, a widower who buys white roses for his wife's grave. he never misses a visit to the shop exactly once a week. in your heart, you feel sorry for him—you can barely name any other person who visits the cemetery so often. honestly, he's not really eager to talk about his troubles; you found out the real purpose of those flowers when you asked a straightforward question.

but he's late this week. hames didn't come on the day he usually visits the flower shop. it wasn't like him at all, so even though you barely know him, you can't help but wonder what happened. did he find another shop to buy flowers? was he too busy this week, or did something bad happen to him? anyway, the sound of the doorbell pulls you out of your own thoughts. fortunately, it's james—still as shy and a little disoriented as always, and even the green jacket he wears is the same.

“…uhm, hello there," - he mumbled, clearing his throat and approaching the counter. your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his hoarse voice, - “as usual, please.”

you immediately understood he meant the same bouquet of white flowers wrapped in a silk tape, so there's nothing left to do but nod and begin to work. james leans on the counter slightly, watching you as you prepare his bouquet. giving him a sidelong glance, you notice his eyes on you. he seems bothered and hesitant about something. suddenly, the man pulls out a paper box of chocolates from his bag.

“those are for you, think of it as a thank you,” - he said, giving you a faint and awkward smile. licking his dry lips, he pushed the paper box closer to you on the counter. It was an expensive box of candies, you remembered enjoying such treats the last time you were a kid. james looks away, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket, - he’s obviously uneasy.