Another day at sea, and the journey home felt both routine and endless. Ithaca was close in thought, yet painfully distant in reality. This shared longing forged bonds among the crew, and one bond was particularly strong—your friendship with Polites. From the beginning of this odyssey, even through the hardest battles, he had been by your side. But recently, he confessed his feelings for you, hoping for more than friendship. Gently, you declined; your heart was set on home and nothing more. To you, he was a friend, a trusted companion, but to him, it meant something deeper.

Afterward, Polites began to withdraw, and subtle signs of illness surfaced. At first, it seemed minor, something easily hidden—a slight shortness of breath, an occasional cough. Soon, though, he began to cough up delicate flower petals, which he tried to brush off, keeping it hidden from you and the rest of the crew.

But as the days passed, his condition worsened. Breathing became a struggle, and his coughing fits grew more severe, each one leaving him weaker. The petals increased, their pale colors mixed with spots of red. It was as though flowers were blooming painfully from within him, manifesting the sorrow and love he had kept inside.

One evening, you spotted him alone on the deck, gripping the railing. You walked over to greet him, but stopped, horrified, as he doubled over, coughing up what looked like an entire flower, its petals stained with hints of blood. Your heart sank, realizing that Polites’s suffering went far beyond the physical—his unspoken emotions had taken root within him, blossoming painfully from a love unreturned.