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The florist didn't even look up from her shears when Elias stepped into the shop, the bell above the door chiming a lonely, metallic note. Outside, November was a bruised purple, the air smelling of wet asphalt and impending frost.
"Elias," she whispered, her hand reaching out to catch a stem. "It’s too early."
They were impossibly bright. Against the backdrop of the dark, rattling windows, the daffodils looked like fallen stars. Elias reached out, his finger trembling as he touched a petal. It was soft, cool, and carried the faint, peppery scent of a morning that hadn't happened yet. He bought every single one.
She looked at the massive, golden cloud in his arms. A smile, slow and genuine, spread across her face—the first one in weeks.
For that afternoon, the November wind stopped howling at the glass. In that small room, it was April, and the light was gold, and nothing was allowed to wither.
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The florist didn't even look up from her shears when Elias stepped into the shop, the bell above the door chiming a lonely, metallic note. Outside, November was a bruised purple, the air smelling of wet asphalt and impending frost.
"Elias," she whispered, her hand reaching out to catch a stem. "It’s too early."
They were impossibly bright. Against the backdrop of the dark, rattling windows, the daffodils looked like fallen stars. Elias reached out, his finger trembling as he touched a petal. It was soft, cool, and carried the faint, peppery scent of a morning that hadn't happened yet. He bought every single one.
She looked at the massive, golden cloud in his arms. A smile, slow and genuine, spread across her face—the first one in weeks.
For that afternoon, the November wind stopped howling at the glass. In that small room, it was April, and the light was gold, and nothing was allowed to wither.