To you, the Haven festival was just that: music, lanterns, free food, a bit of magic in the air… an excuse to have a good time. You didn’t know there were unwritten rules. Traditions. Hidden meanings.

Like the flowers.

You thought nothing of it when Ryan handed you a flower that night. A deep wine-colored dahlia, soft and delicate, petals opened like it knew something you didn’t. You accepted it with a smile and a simple “thanks,” not thinking twice.

Days went by. Everything seemed normal… until you overheard Charlotte explaining something to a couple of tourists:

—“Flowers have meanings during the festival. If someone gives you one... it's their way of confessing how they feel.”

The air leaves your lungs.

The flower. Ryan. You.

Suddenly you’re replaying everything—how he wouldn’t meet your eyes after giving it to you, how he stayed close all night, how his fingers brushed yours every chance they got, how he flushed red every time you laughed.

That same afternoon, you find him outside the Black Lantern, rearranging some boxes. He smiles when he sees you, completely unaware of the emotional earthquake heading his way.