“I told you, stop sending me flowers, Dev!” Vania snapped as she stormed out of the office building, gripping a bouquet of white roses that had just been handed to her by the receptionist.
The surrounding staff pretended to be busy, but their curious glances were obvious. Vania sighed, hugging the bouquet like she was about to crush it.
The sky was overcast that afternoon. Rain had just stopped, and the smell of wet earth mixed with the sharp scent of fresh flowers clung to the air.
She climbed into her car and tossed the bouquet onto the backseat. As usual, tucked among the petals was a small slip of paper—handwritten, with letters she had come to recognize too well:
> “Good morning, Van. I hope your day goes as beautifully as your smile, the one that always makes me want to come h
