CHAPTER 6
1140 Words
The bell rang in the late afternoon, its sound softer than usual, almost hesitant. I knew it was him before I lifted my head. My hands paused over the register, and my breath slowed as if my body had learned his rhythm before my mind could catch up.
Yuya stood at the entrance, dressed simply, dark hair falling neatly against his forehead. The light behind him framed his figure, making him look unreal, as if he had stepped out of a place that did not quite belong to the present. His gaze met mine, steady and calm, and something inside me shifted again, quiet yet undeniable.
“You came back,” I said.
He inclined his head. “I told you I would.”
I wiped my hands on a cloth and stepped out from behind the counter. “Is something wrong with the roses?”
“No,” he replied. “They were beautiful.”
The word carried weight in his voice. Not admiration. Not praise. Something closer to reverence.
He walked deeper into the shop, his presence filling the space without effort. I watched him stop near the crates of red roses, his fingers hovering just above the petals without touching them.
“I would like to place another order,” he said.
I blinked. “Another one?”
“Yes. Larger than the last.”
The words settled slowly. Larger than the last. My mind moved at once to numbers, invoices, suppliers, delivery schedules. My chest felt warm and uneasy at the same time.
“How much larger?” I asked.
Yuya turned to face me. “As many as you can provide.”
I stared at him. “Yuya, that’s not a small request. My shop isn’t designed for that scale.”
“I know.”
“And red roses are not cheap,” I added, carefully. “Especially in this quantity.”
“I am aware.”
I hesitated, then spoke before I could lose the nerve. “Can I ask why?”
Yuya studied me for a long moment. His gaze felt measured, thoughtful, almost gentle.
“You may ask,” he said.
“But you won’t answer,” I said quietly.
A faint smile touched his lips. “Not directly.”
I let out a slow breath. “This is a business, Yuya. I need to understand what I’m agreeing to.”
“I will pay,” he said calmly.
“That’s not the only concern.”
His eyes softened slightly. “Then speak your concern.”
I gestured toward the shop. “This place survives on careful balance. Orders like this could help, yes. But they could also ruin me if something goes wrong. I need to know you are not acting on impulse.”
He stepped closer, stopping just short of the counter. “This is not impulse.”
“Then what is it?”
Silence stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. The roses seemed to watch, their color deep and vivid.
“At some point,” Yuya said slowly, “a person must decide what is worth preserving.”
I frowned. “Preserving what?”
He looked at the roses again. “Memory. Meaning. What remains when time moves on.”
“That still doesn’t explain the size of the order,” I said.
“No,” he agreed. “It does not.”
I leaned against the counter, frustration and curiosity tangled together. “Yuya, I’m not trying to pry. But you keep asking for more, and I can’t ignore the cost. Not just money. Time. Space. Risk.”
“I would never ask you to bear risk alone,” he said.
“You are still not answering.”
His gaze returned to me. “Some truths do not reveal themselves under pressure.”
I laughed softly, without humor. “That sounds convenient.”
“Perhaps,” he replied. “But it is also honest.”
I watched him closely. There was no hesitation in him. No nervousness. Only calm certainty, as if the outcome had already been decided long ago.
“Who are these roses for?” I asked.
“They are not for one person,” he said.
“Then for whom?”
“For a moment,” he replied. “For a place in time that deserves to be remembered.”
I shook my head slightly. “You speak like someone carrying a story too heavy to say aloud.”
Yuya did not deny it.
“Can your shop fulfill the order?” he asked.
I hesitated. “Yes. But I will need advance payment.”
“That is acceptable.”
“And delivery coordination.”
“I will leave that to you.”
“And storage,” I added. “They cannot remain here forever.”
“They will not,” he said.
Something about his certainty unsettled me. “You say that like you know exactly when they will leave.”
His gaze held mine. “I do.”
I swallowed. “Then at least tell me this. Are you doing this out of regret?”
“No.”
“Guilt?”
“No.”
“Love?”
He paused.
Not long. Not dramatic. But enough.
“Love does not disappear,” he said quietly. “It changes shape.”
The words lodged in my chest. I did not know what to say to that.
“I will prepare the order,” I said at last. “But I need you to understand something.”
“Yes?”
“If this puts my shop in danger, I will stop.”
He nodded. “That is fair.”
“And if I ask again,” I added, “I expect honesty.”
His lips curved faintly. “Then I hope you ask at the right time.”
I sighed. “You are infuriating.”
“So I have been told.”
Despite myself, I smiled. “You never tell me anything fully.”
“And yet you continue to listen.”
I looked away, focusing on the roses. “I don’t know why.”
Yuya’s voice softened. “Perhaps because you understand more than you think.”
He turned toward the door, then paused. “Prepare as many as you can within reason. I will return tomorrow to finalize the details.”
“Tomorrow,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
The bell rang as he stepped outside, leaving the shop quieter than before. I stood there, staring at the roses, my mind racing through numbers and questions that refused to settle.
I had agreed. Again.
And I knew I would do so again if he asked.
Not because of the money. Or maybe partly because of the money.
But because something about Yuya felt like a question my life had been waiting to ask.
- Writer
