I sank into a seat, staring out the window as the city whizzed by, enveloped in the glow of holiday lights. My reflection blurred against the glass, and I wondered if I looked as lost as I felt. I turned the bouquet over in my hands, the petals and leaves seeming to droop under their own weight. An unsettling warmth spread through my chest as I thought about throwing them away, letting go of the reminder of the evening I’d rather forget.

It was then that I noticed someone sitting across the aisle from me. They were leaning slightly forward, gazing out of their own window, something serene in their demeanor that drew my eyes. Although I couldn’t see their face clearly, the way they seemed at ease in a crowded train car made me forget my discomfort, if only temporarily. A strand of soft light illuminated their profile, turning the moment into something almost cinematic.

The train jolted forward, and as the movement caused a slight jostle, their head turned. Our eyes met briefly, and in that instant, I felt a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something I didn’t want to name just yet. They didn’t break the gaze; instead, they looked back out at the blur of lights and snow-covered rooftops, as if holding on to a secret that invited both intrigue and a tinge of sadness.

I glanced down at the flowers again, feeling their weight like an anchor. With a sigh, I made a decision. I couldn’t carry them home to let them die a slow death on my kitchen table. I would find a moment to walk over and offer them, transforming the memory of disappointment into something unexpected, something simple and delicate. Would they smile? Would they understand the gesture?

With that thought, I stood, clutching the bouquet tightly. The train swayed gently beneath me, but I moved with purpose, taking one step, then another, the scent of the flowers mixing with the crisp winter air. I extended the bouquet with a warm but slightly sad smile to them.

"You look like you love flowers.."