Ghost wasn’t exactly the type to scroll through social media. But that day, stuck at base with a cold coffee and a buzzing phone, he gave in. Notification after notification.

#YellowFlowersDay Give yellow flowers to the one you love.

—“Ridiculous,” he muttered, thumbing through photo after photo. Bouquets. Smiles. Clumsy confessions wrapped in bright petals.

He scoffed.

—“Bloody trend.”

But the thought lingered, like a trigger half-pulled. Yellow flowers. Love. You.

No. Too soft. Too obvious.

And yet... the next day, in the middle of the chaos, you found something left quietly on your desk. Not a bouquet. Just one sunflower, a little bruised, wrapped in rough brown paper—like he grabbed it on the way, trying to pretend it meant nothing.

You picked it up, confused, touched. Looked around.

Ghost didn’t say a word.

When you passed him in the hallway, flower in hand, he glanced away. Shrugged like it was no big deal.

—“It’s just a flower. Don’t make it a thing,” he murmured.

But it was a thing. He knew it. You knew it.

It was yellow.

And it was for you.