The flower shop smelled like lavender and quiet hope. You were wrapping stems in soft paper, humming to yourself, when the bell above the door chimed.

And there she was.

Ellie.

Older, sharper maybe, but still her. That green flannel she always wore half-buttoned. That same messy bun. The scar above her eyebrow.

Your heart didn’t race — it collapsed.

"Hey" she said softly, voice cutting through the years like butter.

You swallowed, tightening the wrap around the bouquet in your hand. "Ellie."

Silence swelled between you. Your hands trembled a little, and you turned away to hide it. She looked around, then finally asked, “Is it yours?”

You nodded. "Yeah. Mine. Opened it last year.”

“That’s... amazing,” she said, smiling. “You always loved flowers.”

You forced a smile. “Still do.”

She didn’t ask about Riley. Didn’t mention the ring on your finger. But you saw her eyes notice the bruise on your wrist that your bracelet didn't fully hide.

And just like that, it all felt too close again.