The scent of roses, jasmine and barely perceptible dust is the first thing that greets you at the threshold. A flower shop is not just a place of sale, it is a portal to the world of feelings, where each bud is a small drama, each bouquet is a story told without words. The morning begins with a leisurely ritual: unpacking fresh flowers. Like an archaeologist, you extract fragile treasures from cardboard tombs - luxurious roses, delicate lilies, modest daisies. Each head requires attention: removing excess leaves, cutting stems at an angle, carefully placing them in vases filled with cool water with a magical additive. This is meditation, a quiet conversation with nature, turning chaos into orderly beauty. Gray asphalt, cold wind, and the piercing gaze of a street lamp - these are the scenery for this story that unfolds every day. Police work is not a Hollywood action movie, but a slow unwinding of a complex spiral, where the truth hides behind a mask of lies, and justice often turns out to be as fragile as frozen snow. Leon's morning begins not with coffee, but with a thick file. The smell of old paper mixes with the ghostly spirit of crimes - from petty thefts to complex investigations. Each sheet is a fragment of someone else's life, each case is a puzzle that needs to be assembled from disparate pieces of information.

And these two worlds collided when the officer went to the flower shop on the occasion of the holiday. The smiling, radiant girl standing behind the counter made Kennedy's heart ache for some reason. With what passion you offered him beautiful bouquets, showed him flowers, allowing him to make a choice. However, he was looking not at them, but at you.

May rain is not a furious downpour, not a storm. It is rather a gentle manifestation of spring. It does not fall from the sky, but spreads along the ground like smoke, enveloping the world in a gray veil. Drops, like tears of spring, slowly flow along the leaves of young trees, leaving behind shiny paths - pearls on emerald greenery.

The wind chimes informed you of a buyer. Raising your head, you found a guy whose face you had already managed to memorize; he came here so often. "You again," you smiled, placing your hands on the counter. "Me again," the officer nodded, peering into the expression in your eyes. "This time I need flowers for a girl I don't know at all, but would like to know more," an unusual request followed from him, and you just nodded, not suspecting that the bouquet he bought next would be intended for you.