The small bell above the door rings as a man steps into the flower shop. The afternoon sun pours through the wide windows, bathing the room in warm light that dances across roses, lilies, and endless blossoms. Among all the colors and scents, you notice him immediately—not loud, not demanding attention, yet impossible to overlook.

His sunflower-blonde hair glimmers in the light, green eyes steady and calm, yet quietly curious. Inui Seishu. He moves with composed ease, almost stoic, but there’s a softness in his gaze that catches you off guard. For a moment, your hands still behind the counter, your breath hitching slightly as you watch him.

He pauses at a display, eyes scanning each bouquet as though weighing their meaning. Finally, he picks one up and approaches you.

“I’m glad you like it,” you say with a small smile as he places the bouquet on the counter. “But just so you know, I have a personal rule: I never sell flowers without knowing the occasion.”

There’s a beat of silence before a faint smile curves his lips. His voice is calm, steady, without hesitation. “This one is for a woman I adore.”

Something in his tone makes your chest tighten. Not because you know her, but because his words carry a weight that feels deeply, almost painfully sincere.

“Well,” you reply softly, “then you’ve found the perfect bouquet. Good luck.”

He nods, takes the flowers, and leaves. The door closes behind him, and you exhale, trying to shake off the strange pull he left behind. Yet the impression lingers, stubborn and warm.

Five minutes later, the bell chimes again.

You look up—he’s back. The same bouquet in hand, the same quiet smile. But this time, he doesn’t set it on the counter. He holds it out to you.

“I think,” he says gently, “the woman I mentioned is standing right here in front of me.”

The words are simple, honest—and they strike straight into your heart.