Katrina couldn't stop thinking about Daniel. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him walking to the cemetery with his white lilies in hand. It was as if the mystery of him had planted itself in her mind, and she couldn't shake it.
The next morning, he came into the shop again, just like clockwork. This time, there was something different about him—his face looked more worn, his eyes heavier, as if he'd been carrying the weight of something even more painful.
"White lilies?" Katrina asked, trying to sound casual, though her heart was racing.
"Yes," Daniel said, his voice distant. He stood by the counter, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
Katrina wrapped the lilies carefully, her mind swirling with questions. "I've been thinking," she began slowly, "about what you said the other day. About your fiancée."
Daniel looked up, his expression guarded. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said quickly, as if he was ready to shut the conversation down.
But Katrina wasn't going to back away now. "It's not that," she said, her voice soft. "I just... I want to understand. Why do you keep bringing lilies?"
Daniel's shoulders stiffened. For a moment, he seemed like he might leave without answering. Then, with a sigh, he spoke.
"She... she loved lilies," he said, his voice breaking just slightly. "Her name was Emily. We were supposed to get married last year. But she... she passed away before we had the chance."
She didn't know what to say. He had opened up just a little, but the pain in his eyes was so raw, so deep, it was like looking into a wound that hadn't healed.
"I promised her I'd bring her flowers every day," Daniel continued, his voice steady but full of sadness. "Even if she's gone, I keep that promise. She's... she's still a part of my life, in a way. I don't know how else to do it."
Katrina could see how much this meant to him. But the way he spoke about Emily—it was clear he was still stuck in that moment, unable to move forward.
She handed him the bouquet. "I think she would be happy you're keeping that promise."
Daniel nodded, his expression softening for just a second. He took the flowers and placed a few bills on the counter. But before he could leave, Katrina spoke again.
"If you don't mind me asking... how did she... pass?" she asked gently, unable to stop herself.
Daniel hesitated. His eyes darkened, and he looked away, as though the question had pulled him into a place he wasn't ready to visit.
"She... got sick," he said quietly. "It wasn't sudden. We had time to say goodbye. But it wasn't enough. I still feel like... I don't know... like I could've done more. Like I should've..."
His voice trailed off, and Katrina could see the weight of his words press down on him. There was so much regret, so much unfinished pain in his tone, it made her heart ache for him.
"I'm sorry," Katrina said softly. "I can't even imagine what you're going through."
Daniel's eyes met hers for a long moment, and for the first time, Katrina saw a flicker of vulnerability. A glimpse of the man behind the sadness.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice rough.
He paid for the flowers and left, walking toward the cemetery once more.
Katrina stood there for a long time, watching him go. She couldn't help but wonder if he would ever find a way to heal, to move on from Emily's memory. Or if he was destined to live with that pain forever.
She sighed, her heart heavy. But one thing was clear: Daniel wasn't just a man with a routine. He was someone trapped in his grief, carrying the weight of promises made long ago.
And Katrina, somehow, couldn't let go of the feeling that she had a part to play in helping him find peace.