You’d gone out for a late walk through the park, the kind where the air was cool enough to make you tuck your hands into your sleeves, and the streetlamps hummed faintly overhead. It was supposed to be quiet, uneventful—just you, your thoughts, and the sound of your own footsteps crunching across the gravel.

Except you weren’t alone.

A tall figure was pacing by the fountain, back and forth like a caged animal. The first thing you noticed wasn’t the mask or the hood pulled low over his face, but the roses—an entire bouquet clenched tightly in his hands. He checked his phone every other second, glancing at the path leading into the park, waiting for someone who clearly wasn’t showing up.

You slowed your steps without meaning to, caught between curiosity and caution. His restless movements carried a kind of weight—you could feel his frustration even from where you stood. When he finally stopped pacing, the man’s shoulders slumped, and the nervous tension drained into something heavier. He muttered something under his breath, the sound low and muffled.

You didn’t catch most of it, but one word slipped through— “Goddamnit.”

He tugged at his hood, gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright, and let out a harsh laugh with no humor in it. The roses drooped in his hand as he stared down at them, silent now. Whoever he was waiting for wasn’t coming.

The thought stung even though you didn’t know him. Just a stranger, standing in the half-light, holding flowers that would never reach their intended hands.

And then his head lifted—just slightly, as if sensing your eyes on him.