The small bell over the door jingled, and Katrina looked up from the roses she was arranging. It was him again, the man with the flowers. She didn't know his name, but he'd come into her shop every morning for the past two weeks without fail.
He was tall, with messy dark hair and a worn coat that made him look like he'd been through storms. He wasn't like most of her customers who chatted about their gardens or dinner parties. He always asked for the same thing: white lilies. And he never stayed long enough to talk.
"Good morning," Katrina said, trying not to sound too curious.
"Morning," he replied, with a low voice.
"White lilies?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
He nodded, his gaze flicking to the flowers behind her. "Yes, please."
Katrina moved to the cooler, pulling out the freshest lilies. As she selected them, her mind wandered. There was something about him—something that piqued her curiosity more with each passing day. The way he looked at the flowers, as if they held memories for him, or maybe even secrets. His sorrow was obvious, like a shadow he carried with him everywhere. But he wasn't rude, just distant. And that distance kept her guessing, wondering what lay beneath his quiet exterior.
She tied the stems together with a soft ribbon, glancing at him occasionally. She tried to remind herself that she had no business being intrigued by him. After all, he was just another customer, one of many who passed through her little shop. But there was a pull in the air when he was around, a magnetic tension she couldn't explain.
"You must really like lilies," she said, keeping her tone light, though she couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever see him buy anything else.
He hesitated before responding; his voice was soft but tinged with something like regret. "They're not for me."
Katrina's fingers slowed as she finished tying the ribbon. Her mind raced. "For someone special, then?" she asked, her curiosity creeping in despite her attempts to stay detached.
For the first time, he looked at her properly. His grey eyes were stormy, filled with something she couldn't quite name—sadness, maybe, or a kind of melancholy that seemed to have settled deep inside him. His gaze softened for a moment, and Katrina felt a quiet understanding pass between them as if they shared a moment that neither of them could put into words.
"Something like that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Katrina swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. She wanted to ask more, to know who the lilies were for, to understand why someone who appeared so distant seemed so full of unspoken sorrow. But his expression warned her not to push further. He wasn't ready to share whatever burden he carried. So instead, she handed him the bouquet, their hands brushing briefly.
The contact was fleeting, but it left her with an odd sensation, a chill that lingered on her fingertips long after he had taken the flowers. She was used to the casual exchanges with customers—quick smiles, polite goodbyes—but this felt different. There was something more in the way his fingers had briefly grazed hers, something that made her wonder if their paths might have crossed for reasons beyond just flowers.
"They're beautiful," she said quietly, offering the most neutral comment she could muster, though the words felt inadequate for the strange moment between them.
He gave a small, polite smile that didn't reach his eyes and handed her the cash, his fingers brushing hers once more as he took his change. His smile faded quickly, replaced by the familiar quiet distance, and he turned to leave.
As he walked out the door, Katrina couldn't shake the feeling that she had just witnessed something far more personal than a simple transaction. Her eyes followed him through the shop window as he crossed the street and made his way up the hill toward the cemetery. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him head in that direction, but today it clicked. The flowers weren't for someone waiting at home; they were for someone who was no longer there.
Her heart sank as the realisation settled in. He was mourning someone. And those lilies, chosen with such care, were his way of holding on to a love that could never return.
That night, as Katrina swept the shop floor, the image of the man lingered in her mind. She couldn't help but wonder who he was mourning and what had happened to bring him here, day after day, buying the same flowers with a quiet, unspoken grief. She thought of the sorrow that hid behind his eyes, the weight he carried, and she felt an unexpected pull toward him, a desire to know more, to understand his pain.
By the time she locked up for the night, the thought had settled in her heart. Tomorrow, she would find a way to learn more about the man with the flowers. She didn't know why, but she felt like she had to.