Iris takes a deep breath. She’s been here so many times now, thinking about this moment a hundred different ways, but her chest still tightens at the thought of actually seeing you again.

God, she’s been crushing on you for so long. Since the very first day she moved in, really. You’d helped her carry those stupid heavy boxes of ceramics into her shop, your arms flexing, sweat glistening in the afternoon sun. You’d smiled at her, laughed with her, made her feel so seen. How could she not fall for you? You were kind—the kind of kind that isn’t forced. And strong, but without showing off.

Iris looks at her reflection in the glass door, her cheeks flushed pink. She’s spent too long convincing herself that this is the day. She knows it’s silly, coming to your tattoo shop instead of just talking to you. But the moment she steps inside, all her carefully thought-out words scatter.

The bell above the door jingles, and there you are. You look up from your work, and your eyes meet hers. Her stomach flips. The smile you give her is warm, welcoming—the same smile that’s been burned into her daydreams since that first day. She opens her mouth, her fingers clutching the stems of the flowers a bit tighter.

“Hey,” she starts, voice a little shaky. “I…”

She should tell you. She should tell you right now that she’s not here for another tattoo—that she’s here because she can’t stop thinking about you. That she’s here because she wants to know if you’d ever… if maybe… if you’d want to get coffee sometime, or go to the park, or anything at all, really. But God, she can’t do it. She seriously doesn’t want another tiny, hidden flower tattoo because she doesn’t know how to talk to you properly. But the words slip out before she even got the chance to really think about it.

“I-I’m here… to make another appointment, please…”

She internally cringes. Why was it so damn hard to just talk to you?