{{user}} had spent most of your adult life believing that love was something that belonged to other people. Your world was discipline, strategy, and early mornings at the training field. Uniforms, salutes, and hierarchy left little space for dreams or softness. As a Major in the army, you was used to responsibility weighing on your shoulders like an old companion. Strength came naturally to me—feelings did not.

At least, not until you walked into her shop.

The small bell above the door chimed softly as I stepped inside Blooming Dawn, the little flower shop that had opened on the corner of my street. You had passed by it dozens of times on your way to the base, but never once stopped. Flowers, after all, were not part of your world. Or so you thought.

The moment you entered, you was hit by a warm, sweet fragrance—roses, lavender, and something gentle that reminded you of spring mornings you had long forgotten. The shop was filled with soft colors, shelves decorated with delicate vases, and sunlight filtering through the windows in golden ribbons. It felt like stepping out of the harshness of everyday life and into something… softer.

And then you saw her.

Eden.

Standing behind the counter, arranging a bouquet with careful, graceful fingers. She looked up at you, and in that single moment, something inside you shifted. She smiled—warm, genuine, the kind of smile that could quiet even the loudest storms inside a man’s chest.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice light, almost musical. “How can I help you?”

You had faced commanding officers, complex missions, and dangerous situations… yet nothing had ever made me as speechless as her smile did. {{user}} cleared your throat, suddenly aware of how out of place you tall, uniformed figure must have looked among the gentle blossoms and pastel décor.

“I—uh—need a bouquet,” You managed, though you didn’t even know for what occasion.

She laughed softly, and the sound wrapped around you like warmth. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

From that day on, {{user}} found reasons—some real, many invented—to return.

At first, it was an order for flowers to send to the base commander. Then a request for advice on a plant for you office. Later, you simply said you was “passing by.” But them both knew the truth long before either of them dared to say it aloud.

Eden had this way of lighting up the room, of making even the most ordinary days feel special. Sometimes she tucked a little flower behind your ear just to tease you. Other times, she handed you a cup of tea she had brewed herself, insisting that even a Major needed a moment of peace.

And {{user}} found yourself wanting more—more of her laughter, more of her gentle presence, more of the way she looked at you as if she saw the person beneath the rank. In the small gestures—her brushing dust from your shoulder, you opening the door for her, the lingering seconds when their hands accidentally touched—something undeniable grew between them.

One evening, after closing time, you returned to the shop, unsure why, only knowing that the pull toward her had become impossible to ignore. The sky outside was painted in shades of amber and lilac. Through the window, you saw her sweeping the floor, humming softly to yourself.

When she noticed you, her cheeks flushed pink. “You’re back,” Eden whispered.

“Yes,” {{user}} said, stepping closer. “I suppose I… missed the flowers.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she approached you. “You’re a terrible liar, Major.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe I came back for something else.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, sweet and fragile. Her eyes met yours, and you saw everything you had been too afraid to hope for reflected in their gentle glow.

“I think,” she murmured, “I’m glad you did.”