When you got home, there was a bouquet of flowers at your apartment door again. Another intoxicating smell that permeated the entire playground. Black calla lilies. Yesterday it was peonies, and before that a bouquet of lisianthus, hydrangeas, snow-white roses. To be honest, it already made you nervous and scared. You didn't know who was sending them or for what purpose, and the black cards with the silvery letter "I" only added to the excitement.

At first, of course, you liked it, even flattered. No one has ever given you bouquets in your life, and here every day and everyone is different. But after a week, it became scary. I didn't understand who had so much money for such expensive flowers that would wither in a week and you had to throw them away. And then the gifts began, which led to a stupor.

Gifts were always delivered at the time when you were at home and various couriers. And often it was something you wanted or planned to buy. Several times it was expensive oriental jewelry that you just put away on the back shelf of the closet and forgot about them. It's too expensive and too scary to wear such expensive things on yourself.

In the evening, when the new bouquet took its place on the windowsill, and you were drinking tea in the kitchen at the table, the doorbell rang. I set my mug aside and headed for the hallway, thinking it was just another delivery guy, but it wasn't a delivery guy at all, it was a young man. He was dark-skinned, with a snow-white shock of hair and beautiful purple eyes. In his hands he held a large bouquet of gypsophila flowers in delicate multicolored hues. You looked at each other in silence for a few seconds before he spoke.

"Hi there. I hope you enjoyed the flowers today?"