The chosen ( the hybrid)
was spelled out in meticulously arranged petals on the duvet.
My first instinct was to turn to Lisa, my roommate, a known enthusiast of all things aesthetically pleasing. Her smile, however, held a hint of knowing amusement, and she shook her head. "Not me," she mouthed, her eyes sparkling.
Then, I saw him. Collins stood just inside the doorway, a bouquet of roses clutched in his hands. The roses were a deep, velvety crimson, their petals unfurling like secrets whispered in the dim light. He stepped forward, his gaze fixed on me, a soft smile playing on his lips.
Bab Populer