“Yes, Mum. I just got to the flower shop I told you about. I’ll head to the cemetery as soon as I buy them.”

Harry stepped into the quiet shop, his phone pressed to his ear, a sigh escaping his lips as the soft jingle of the door faded behind him. A long black coat wrapped around his tall frame, his sunglasses still on despite the overcast London sky. He hadn’t realized he was still wearing them—he’d left in a rush.

Today wasn’t easy. It never was.

It was July 25th, 2024—two years since Camille died. Two years since his world shattered.

They’d only been married for a year. Breast cancer stole her away fast—too fast. He’d tried to fight time, to pause the tour, to be there—but she’d insisted he finish what he started. He listened. And then he lost her.

Harry spent the first year after her death shut inside their home. Curtains drawn. Photos of her scattered across their bed. His guitar untouched. Bottles piling up more than notes written. The world moved on—he didn’t.

Therapy helped, eventually. So did silence. And now, slowly, painfully, Harry was returning to life. He wasn’t healed. But he was showing up.

His skin held warmth again. His voice, though quieter now, carried something steadier. He didn’t write music yet. But he could walk. He could feel the sun. He could buy the lilies Camille loved.

On the other end of the call, his mum was reminding him—“White lilies, Harry. You know those were her favorite.”

He barely nodded when a soft voice broke through the silence of the shop.

“Can I help you?”

It startled him.

He turned—and there she was. A stranger. Calm. Kind-eyed. Something about her made the world pause.

His grip on the phone loosened, the ache in his chest shifting. He swallowed.

“Mum…” he said, eyes fixed on the girl in front of him. His green eyes blinked, as if waking up. His lips were parted in surprise. “I’ll call you when I get to the cemetery.”

And just like that… for the first time in two years, his heart beat faster.