Hooking up with my best friend’s crush
The air in the florist’s shop is a thick, humid sanctuary of botanical scents, a sharp contrast to the sterile, recycled oxygen of the floor. It’s a tiny, tucked-between-buildings spot that somehow maintains the delicate, dew-heavy smell of fresh-cut roses even as the spring heat begins to bake the city pavement outside. I stand there for a long moment, my eyes scanning the buckets until I find them: white lilies and soft pink peonies. These are Selene’s favorites, the specific blooms she once pointed out during a late-night walk, claiming they reminded her of "quiet nights and no drama." In the wreckage of the last two weeks, those words feel like a taunt, but I figure if fourteen days of a
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