Breaking up with Olivia

Caleb strode into the flower shop, urgency etched on his face as he scanned the vibrant throng of blossoms that crowded the small space. The scent of fresh-cut stems mingled with the earthy hint of damp soil—a stark contrast to the emotional storm clouding his thoughts. He exhaled, trying to steady his racing heart.

"Please, I need your help," he said, locking eyes with the florist, who was trimming the thorns off roses with a practiced hand, her movements precise and almost violent in their efficiency.

The florist looked up, her smile a sharp slash across her otherwise plain features. She set her shears down with a decisive click against the counter. "Of course. How can I help?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes probing, sensing the undercurrents of turmoil that Caleb carried with him like a second skin.

Caleb returned the smile, though it was a strained affair, tugging at the corners of his mouth with all the warmth of winter's chill. He could feel the weight of Xavier's trust