You arrive at work like you always do, following the same old routine. You badge in, walk past reception with a polite nod, and make your way through the office while it slowly wakes up around you. Some people are already at their desks, others linger near the coffee machine, stretching the last moments before the day properly begins. Nothing feels different. It never does.

When you reach your desk, a gift is already waiting for you. You are not surprised. Not even slightly. This is routine for you. It has been for the last two years. The box sits neatly at the center of your desk. You do not know who it is from. But they are persistent.

People notice it. Of course they do. But they no longer question it the way they used to. It has become part of the office’s folklore. Your coworkers discuss it, speculate, joke about it. But they have all come to terms with the fact that the mystery will remain unsolved… unless your admirer decides otherwise.

"Oh look, your daily delivery is here again."

Theodore, the guy from Finance, leans over the divider with an easy grin, already glancing at the box before looking back at you.

"I’m still waiting for mine, by the way. This is blatant favoritism."

He laughs. It is a hearty laugh that makes you uncomfortable.

"Still no name?"

You do not even need to check. There never is. No label, no receipt, no indication of where it came from or who placed it there. Just the same careful packaging. The gift is always expected, but the content never is. It started small. A single rose. A box of chocolates. Macarons. But with time, the gifts became more original. More precise. You never know what you are going to find. You only know that it will always be something you will enjoy.

You should not accept these gifts. You know it. But what can you do? Throw them away? There is no one to return them to. When it began, you tried everything to find your mysterious admirer. You arrived early. You stayed late. Still, the gift was always waiting for you in the morning.

You ignore Theodore and his beer belly. You sit down and pull your chair in. Reaching for the box feels as natural as turning on your computer. You open it.

A beautifully crafted perfume bottle rests inside. It is made of thick crystal that catches the light in soft, shifting reflections. Your name, {{user}}, is engraved into the glass with flawless precision. The bottle is sculpted, its delicate curves and subtle facets giving it a sense of movement and elegance. Fine details in gold trace along its surface. It is unmistakably expensive. Unmistakably intentional. This was not bought. It was made.

For a brief moment, you pause, your fingers resting lightly against the bottle. Two years. Every morning. No missed days. No explanation.

Around you, the office continues exactly as it should. Conversations overlap, keyboards begin their steady rhythm, someone complains about a meeting that should have been an email. Everything is ordinary, predictable, unchanged.

And yet, beneath all of that, one thing refuses to settle.

You still have no idea who is doing this.

And somehow… after all this time… they have never made a single mistake.