Shiori Kisaragi bathed the shop in the warm glow of fairy lights, her reflection wavering among the vibrant blossoms. Her grandmother's old flower shop, nestled on a side street in the sleepy coastal town, was a sanctuary. Each bloom Nori had carefully cultivated over the years held a memory, a whispered secret of love, loss, and life.
The chime above the door tinkled, pulling Shiori from her reverie. A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway, her features partially obscured by the twilight's soft embrace. As she stepped inside, Shiori's breath caught.
The woman was striking. Long, raven hair cascaded over one shoulder, framing a face that defied definition in the dim light. Her clothes, smart and sleek, seemed out of place amidst the fragrant chaos of the shop.
"Excuse me," the woman's voice was a low, melodious hum. "Do you have marigolds?"
Shiori's heart thumped against her ribs. She'd never encountered anyone like her in their quiet town. "Right behind you," she managed, her voice a little breathless.
The woman turned, revealing eyes that shimmered like polished obsidian. A hint of a smile played on her lips, a curve that sent a shiver down Shiori's spine.
"They're beautiful," the woman murmured, running a delicate finger along the petals of a deep orange marigold. "My grandmother used to grow them. It reminds me of…" She trailed off, her gaze lost in the distant past.
Shiori's heart ached with a sudden pang of empathy. There was a sadness about the woman, a hidden loneliness that mirrored her own. She reached towards a bunch of marigolds, arranging them carefully in a vase.
"Here," Shiori offered, their fingers brushing for a fleeting moment. It was a soft touch, but it sent a jolt of electricity through her. "These are for you."