The shop was ready. For weeks, it had been nothing but dust and memories, shelves half-empty, his father’s handwriting still scrawled on old tags. Now, it looked like it belonged to the present again. Flowers in careful arrangements, meaning stitched into every petal. A place meant to be filled with stories, laughter, with people searching for words they couldn’t say aloud. It should have felt like a victory but it didn’t. His father should’ve been here to see him take over, but he wasn’t. Anouk sat alone in the shop, still hearing his father’s words when he looked a the different flowers. His brother should’ve been here too. But he wasn’t — or at least he wasn’t in the shop, helping. He would be tomorrow but that wasn't the point. Anouk, still standing just where he had stood, looking around at what was left and shaking his head. "I can’t do this." Neither of them could, not really. But only one of them stayed up all night to prepare for the reopening.

A breeze drifted through the open door, carrying the scent of lilies and earth. His father used to say that flowers could tell the truth better than people could. That silence didn’t mean emptiness—it meant listening. And right now, the shop was full of things unsaid. As Anouk looked up, he was half expecting to see his brother but instead {{user}} met his gaze. Then they glanced around at the neatly tied bouquets, the newly polished sign above the door. They did’t say anything and just stepped closer, leaning against the railing. The tension he had been feeling moments before eased in the way it always did when they were near.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The city hummed softly around them until he, almost absently, he disappeared back inside. He didn’t think as he pulled together the stems, hands moving on their own. Dogwood. Wrapped carefully in soft paper. Eventually, the young male walked back outside the bouquet in his hands as he held it out for them. “…reminded me of you.” He mumbled, smiling at the way the night painted {{user}}'s features.