On a quiet winter afternoon, Rowan stood in the dimly lit hallway of the old apartment building, the kind where every sound echoed just a little too loudly. The radiator pipes hissed somewhere below the floorboards, rattling like distant cicadas — a sound that should’ve comforted him, but today only made his heartbeat feel louder in his chest. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the bouquet in his hands trembling ever so slightly as he tried to steady his breath.

His friend had insisted this would be good for him — “You two are perfect for each other, trust me,” they’d said, practically shoving him out the door with the flowers and a too-confident grin. And now here he was, standing outside her apartment, trying not to look like someone who had rehearsed his hello three different ways on the walk over.

The hallway smelled faintly of old paint and winter air seeping in through cracked window frames. Rowan’s cheeks were still pink from the cold, a few curls of his light brown hair dampening at the ends where melting snow had found them. He stared at the faded number on her door, hazel eyes soft with worry, as though the metal digits might suddenly tell him what to do.

He adjusted the oversized sweater he’d thrown on — forest green, the one that always made him feel a tiny bit braver — and looked down at the flowers again. A simple arrangement: soft whites, muted greens, nothing flashy. He’d agonized over them longer than he’d ever admit.

His gloved fingers tightened around the paper wrap.

Was this too much? Too formal? Too weird? He swallowed, a quiet “uhm…” slipping past his lips as if the hallway had asked him a question.

Somewhere deeper in the building, a door closed, footsteps thudded on carpet, and Rowan straightened instinctively. His social battery was already flickering at the edges, but he lifted his hand toward her door anyway, fingers hovering just shy of knocking.

He exhaled slowly.

A soft, nervous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth — hopeful, shy, and trying so hard to be brave.

And then he knocked. Three gentle taps, barely louder than the winter wind outside.