The Mate Curse

Flowers

Aria’s POV

I was already half-asleep, wrapped in my blanket like a burrito, when I heard the knock.

It wasn’t loud or scary, just one of those soft, polite knocks that makes you wonder if you imagined it. But then it happened again—three little knocks—tap tap tap—and I groaned.

Why would anyone be at my door this late?

Still hugging my blanket around my shoulders, I dragged myself out of bed. My feet were cold against the floor, and I shuffled to the door like a zombie. My heart was thudding a bit, which was silly, but I couldn’t help it. I peeked through the peephole, blinking in confusion.

There was a delivery guy standing there. He looked kind of bored, wearing a big green jacket and holding a cardboard box that had leaves poking out of it like messy hair. I stared for a second. Was this for me?

I unlocked the door, still sleepy and confused. “Um… hi?”

“Delivery for Aria,” he said, glancing at the paper on top of the box.

“That’s me,” I said automatically, still not sure what was going on.

He handed me the box like it was no big deal and gave me this tiny smile before saying, “Have a nice night.”

Then he turned around and walked away like nothing weird had just happened.

I stood there with the box in my arms, blinking. The words have a nice night echoed in my brain. The hallway smelled like old wood and something someone had probably burned while cooking dinner earlier. I shut the door slowly, my curiosity growing way bigger than my sleepiness now.

I set the box down on my small table and started peeling the tape off. My fingers were shaky but not in a scared way—more like excited-weird-nervous. Inside was a plant. But not just any plant.

It was… beautiful.

Like, unreal beautiful.

It had flowers I’d never seen before. Big, soft petals that were purple but not just purple—they shimmered. Like the colors changed when I tilted my head. Some looked blue. Others were pinkish-purple. The leaves were dark green and shiny, and the whole thing smelled faintly like rain mixed with sugar and something else I couldn’t name.

There was no card. No letter. No instructions. Just the plant, sitting there like it had chosen me.

“Okay, what the heck?” I whispered, brushing my hand over the petals.

They were warm.

Plants aren’t supposed to be warm, right?

I looked around like maybe a hidden camera crew was about to jump out and yell, “Gotcha!” But nothing happened. Just me, my cluttered apartment, and this magical plant sitting in the middle of it.

I sat down across from it and stared for what felt like forever. Who would send me a plant? I didn’t even have friends who liked plants. Heck, I didn’t even like plants. I mean, they were pretty, sure, but I could barely keep a cactus alive.

Still…

I couldn’t stop staring at it.

Maybe it was delivered to the wrong person? Maybe it was meant for my neighbor?

I tried to shrug it off, but even as I stood up and walked it over to the windowsill, I kept glancing at it. It belonged in the moonlight. I don’t know why I felt that, but I just did. So I placed it right in the middle, where the silver light could hit it like a spotlight on a stage.

It looked… at peace there.

I yawned and rubbed my eyes. “You’re just a plant,” I mumbled, even though I was kind of talking to it like it was a person. “This is probably nothing.”

Still, my heart felt weirdly full. I didn’t know why. It was like the room had a new kind of air now—softer, sweeter. I climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket over my head, peeking at the plant from under it. My eyes started to close, heavy and slow. I was finally drifting off, the smell of the flower still in my nose.

Just before I completely fell asleep, I swear I felt a tiny breeze on my cheek.

The windows were closed.

But I didn’t care.

For the first time in days, I wasn’t thinking about strange dreams or mysterious strangers.

Just flowers, and moonlight, and sleep.

The next morning, I woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains, the room glowing soft and golden. The feeling was peaceful, nothing like the restless tossing and turning I’d gotten used to. I stretched slowly, groaning as I wiggled out of the tangled sheets. I never realized how much I missed waking up without that weird, gnawing feeling of something being off. There were no strange dreams last night, no eerie visions. Just the quiet hum of the world outside and the warmth of my bed. It felt... nice. Like a deep breath I didn’t know I was holding.

I rubbed my eyes and rolled out of bed, feeling the cold floor against my feet as I shuffled over to the window. The morning sun made everything look brighter, more alive. My hair was a wild mess—sticking out every which way—but for once, I didn’t care. I hadn't felt like this in so long, like maybe I was starting to remember how to feel okay again. The moment was perfect, and for a few minutes, I let myself get lost in it.

I turned to the windowsill, where the plant was still sitting there, like a strange little miracle. I squinted at it, unsure why it had stuck with me so much. The colors were like nothing I had ever seen—vibrant, deep, and a little surreal. The petals were soft and almost glowing, and I couldn’t stop staring at it. It was as if it was more than just a plant—it was something special, like a little gift from the universe, sent right to my doorstep.

I reached over and lightly brushed a finger against one of the petals. It was still warm, and something inside me flickered. It was like the plant had been there all along, like it was supposed to be there, but it felt odd. Could it be a sign? But that was silly, right? I was probably overthinking it. Still, I couldn’t ignore how different things felt after it had arrived. No strange dreams, no odd feelings. It was like it was somehow connected to the peace I was finally finding.

But then, I shook my head and chuckled softly to myself. "You're thinking way too much, Aria," I whispered aloud. “It’s just a plant.” I stood there for a few more seconds, gazing at it, before heading to the bathroom. Maybe I was just imagining things, and maybe I was just being a little superstitious, but I couldn’t help wondering if there was a weird connection between it being here and the fact that I had actually slept through the night without feeling disturbed.

I decided to shake it off. After all, I had a lot to do today. I had a painting commission to finish, and the deadline was creeping closer. I needed art supplies, and the idea of getting out of the apartment felt like a nice change of pace. I needed to break out of my head and focus on something else—something I loved.

I glanced back at the plant as I grabbed my things and started to dress. Maybe it was just a coincidence, I told myself. But I couldn't deny how peaceful it felt.

In the bathroom, I washed up and ran a brush through my tangled hair, making sure to wear a smile on my face as I looked at myself in the mirror. I decided to make myself feel good today, to step out of my routine for once. I applied a little light makeup, just some foundation and mascara. Not enough to be overdone but just enough to make me feel fresh and awake. For the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of something close to happiness—a lightness that had been missing.

I picked out an outfit that made me feel comfortable but put together. A soft gray sweater, light blue jeans, and sneakers. Simple, but it worked. I tugged the sweater over my head and smiled at my reflection as I slipped on my shoes. There was a slight bounce in my step as I grabbed my bag and slipped on my jacket. The sunlight outside promised a nice day, and the thought of getting to the art store filled me with a quiet excitement.

Before I left the apartment, I took one last look at the plant. For some reason, it felt like a reassurance, as though the plant was quietly telling me that everything would be okay, even though I didn’t understand why. I shook my head again, smiling to myself, and finally walked out the door.

As I descended the stairs to leave, I glanced back up toward the windowsill, the plant still sitting there, vibrant and full of life. I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of connection to it. But I didn’t let myself think about it too much. Shrugging off any lingering thoughts, I pulled open the door and stepped into the cool morning air.

It was time to get back to doing what I loved, to forget the weirdness of the past few days and just breathe. Today was going to be a good day, and I was determined to make it one.

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