College has been... fine. You’re not the center of attention, but you’ve never needed to be. You’ve got your little group, your comfy reputation, your occasional petty rants in group chat, and a GPA that says “I try, but not too hard.” Life’s chill.

But today? Today, something unhinged happens.

Mid-lecture, right as your professor’s rambling about “metaphysical implications of time” or whatever— a delivery guy strolls in holding a gigantic bouquet, like overcompensating energy level huge.

Everyone goes quiet. The kind of quiet that’s louder than any noise. And then he says your name.

"{{user}}"

He walks right to you, hands over the floral explosion, and dips like it’s mission complete. Now everyone’s staring. Whispers. Snapchat stories. Even your friends are like, “Okay, who TF sent this?”

The bouquet? Breathtaking. Dramatic. Way too well thought-out. Wrapped in dark green velvet with gold-trimmed ribbon, soft lavender and white roses tucked between sprigs of eucalyptus. There’s a card.

You open it. “You used to smile when you saw flowers like these. Thought I’d try again.” No name. Just that.

But your stomach drops. Because you know those flowers. Those were your favorite. And only one person used to bring them. Your ex.