(Jasmine's POV)
The scent of fresh flowers clung to my skin as I arranged the last bouquet of the evening. Raven Bloom, my little flower shop, was quiet at this hour, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. Outside, the city hummed with life—distant laughter from a nearby café, the occasional sound of a car rushing past—but inside, it was just me, the flowers, and the comforting rhythm of my work.
This shop had been my whole world for as long as I could remember.
I ran my fingers over the petals of a pale pink peony, adjusting it slightly in the bouquet. My days were spent surrounded by beauty, but behind it, reality wasn't quite so romantic. Running a flower shop alone wasn't easy. Some days, I barely made enough to keep the lights on.
But I never complained.
This shop was mine—the only thing that ever felt truly mine.
A sharp knock on the glass door pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned and smiled when I saw the familiar figure standing outside—Celeste.
I wiped my hands on my apron and quickly unlocked the door.
"You know, normal people don't show up at flower shops after closing," I teased as she stepped inside.
Celeste shook her head, her silver-streaked hair catching the dim light. "And yet, I find you here every night, working yourself to exhaustion."
I rolled my eyes. "It's not exhaustion. It's dedication."
Celeste gave me a pointed look before walking past me and heading straight for the small kitchen in the back of the shop. I followed, already knowing what she was about to do.
Sure enough, she started brewing tea like she owned the place.
Which, to be fair, she kind of did.
Celeste had raised me after my parents died—not that I remembered them. She was the closest thing I had to family. She wasn't my biological grandmother, but sometimes it felt like she had always been part of my life, watching over me with the kind of unwavering protectiveness only a mother could give.
She placed a steaming cup of chamomile tea in front of me and gave me that look—the one that said she was about to lecture me.
"You need to take care of yourself, Jasmine," she sighed. "You're always here, always working. When was the last time you did something for yourself?"
I shrugged, blowing gently on the tea. "This is for me. I love what I do."
Celeste studied me carefully, her gaze too sharp, too knowing. "Loving what you do doesn't mean you can't rest."
I didn't answer.
Because I knew she was right.
But this shop wasn't just a business. It was a distraction, a purpose, a shield against something I couldn't quite name—the feeling that I was waiting for something, even though I had no idea what.
Celeste reached across the table, squeezing my hand gently. Her touch was warm, grounding. "I worry about you, jas."
I smiled, squeezing her hand back. "I know. But you don't have to. I'm fine."
She sighed again but didn't push.
Instead, she turned toward the window, her expression growing distant.
A flicker of something passed through her eyes—something unreadable, something almost sad.
For a moment, I thought she might say something more. But then she just smiled, a small, secretive smile, and patted my hand again.
"Finish your tea, Jasmine," she said softly. "And promise me you'll get some sleep tonight."
I nodded, but deep down, I had a feeling that sleep wouldn't come easy tonight.
It never did.