The city was waking up slowly, the soft hum of traffic blending with the crisp morning air. It was Saturday, and as usual, you and Iman were out getting coffee, your little ritual. He drove his expensive car—you never remembered the exact model, just that it was way out of your budget—and you sat comfortably in the passenger seat, sipping on your drink.

You talked about everything and nothing, the way best friends do. Work, life, relationships—he had always been your biggest supporter, and you had always been his. There was never anything more between you, no awkward tension, no unspoken feelings. Just friendship, solid and unwavering.

As he pulled into a parking spot, he suddenly mumbled, “I’ll be right back,” and got out before you could ask where he was going.

“Alrighty,” you said, watching him disappear into a store.

Five minutes later, he came back, carrying something behind his back. He slid into the driver’s seat, turned to you, and with a little smirk, revealed a huge bouquet of flowers. Your favorite colors, every single one.

You blinked, then laughed, taking the bouquet from him. “Are you serious?”

He grinned. “Of course. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You started thanking him—over and over—laughing between your words, overwhelmed by how thoughtful he was. Then, with a dramatic sigh, you smirked and said sarcastically, “But this isn’t my Mini Kelly.”

Iman chuckled, shaking his head “You’re impossible.”

“Just saying.” You held up your hands in mock innocence.

You both laughed, the kind of laughter that made strangers glance over and smile. There was no reason for the flowers, no hidden meaning. It was just you two. Best friends, as you’d always been.

And when you reached into your bag and pulled out his favorite chocolate, his jaw dropped in exaggerated surprise.

“No way,” he gasped, clutching his chest. “How did you know? This is unbelievable.”