Episode Five
1219 Words
What She Gave Up
Lena was surprised to see Elijah again after his recent visit to her flower shop. By Thursday, he had come by three times in just five days. His first visit for a vibrant tulip turned into a curious inquiry about orchids, a flower she’d loved recently. Now, he was back for no apparent reason, acting as if it was routine.
To mask her nerves, Lena pretended to focus on the register or mess with a dying succulent nearby.
Martha, her observant co-worker, chimed in, “That succulent’s dead, sweetheart.”
“I know,” Lena mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
Martha smirked, “And so is that excuse.”
The shop bell rang, and Lena expected a delivery but was surprised to see Elijah again.
“I don’t need anything,” he said nonchalantly.
“Then why are you here?” she questioned, intrigued.
He didn’t respond, his face unreadable.
Just then, an elderly couple walked in, hands intertwined. The woman asked, “Do you have any freesia?”
Lena beamed, “Yes, we do!”
“They were in my wedding bouquet,” she said, smiling at her partner.
“I never forget the important things,” he replied proudly.
The woman laughed, “Except how many years it’s been. He thinks it’s forty-six; it’s really forty-seven!”
“I round down to feel younger!” the man winked, his eyes sparkling. Lena wrapped a small bundle of freesia, she wished them a happy anniversary, watching them leave hand in hand, embodying a timeless love.
Turning back, she was surprised to find Elijah still there, fixated on the door, or maybe the ribbon she’d just tied—lost in thought.
“Are you okay?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, just… give me a second.” He moved closer to a vase, fingers hovering over it as if wrestling with unspoken thoughts.
“Sorry, I didn’t come here to interrupt,” he finally said.
“So why are you here?” she pressed, feeling the weight of the moment.
Elijah stood by the door, deliberately avoiding her gaze. His voice was distant and uncertain as he replied, “I don’t know.”
Lena couldn’t help but respond, her words carrying a weight of frustration. “Then maybe you should figure it out.”
Behind the protective cover of a magazine, Martha coughed softly, her eyes darting between them with a pointed look. It was the kind of glance that made Lena feel small, as if she wanted nothing more than to retreat into the shadows and disappear altogether.
After what felt like an eternity, Elijah finally spoke up. “I just came to see the place again,” he admitted, his tone serene. “It’s quiet here.”
Lena scoffed softly, her irritation bubbling to the surface. “It’s a flower shop,” she shot back, lowering her voice with a hint of sarcasm. “Not a meditation center.”
Despite her words, she didn’t ask him to leave, and they stood together in the heavy silence that lingered between them.
He lingered at the door, reluctant to touch the vibrant bouquets or quirky knickknacks. Instead, he simply gazed around, his eyes drifting to the ivy climbing the windows, shimmering in the sunlight and casting playful shadows on the wooden floor.
His focus shifted to a shelf of well-worn books that Martha said gave the shop a cultured feel. Then he spotted a small photo tucked among the flowers—Lena with a younger girl who shared her striking features.
Lena felt a jolt of tension as she saw his gaze.
“She’s not mine,” Lena blurted out, anxious about his possible assumptions. “She’s my sister.”
Elijah nodded, signaling that he wouldn’t pry further.
In the silence, Martha stood, stretching and reaching for her purse. “I’m off to lunch. Don’t burn the place down,” she said, her tone light but firm.
“Martha—” Lena started, alarmed at the thought of being alone with Elijah.
“Don’t ’Martha’ me,” she called back, her footsteps fading away.
And just like that, the shop returned to its usual calm.
Elijah broke the silence first, his voice low and contemplative. “You don’t like people knowing things about you,” he observed.
“I like things simple,” Lena replied, an edge sharpness in her voice betraying discomfort at his insight.
“Is that why you hide behind flowers?” His question hung in the air, setting her on edge.
She spun around to face him, her expression sharp. “Is this a hobby of yours? Reading people?”
“Not really. You’re just not that hard to read,” he said, imperturbably.
With her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if to shield herself, she retorted, “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you don’t trust easily,” he said, his tone steady. “I know you keep your shop spotless while your apartment is probably a chaotic mess. I know that you only smile when you’re annoyed.”
His words tightened her jaw, irritation painting her features.
“I also know that you watch the door after people leave,” he added, speaking softly now. “Even if you pretend not to.”
Silence draped over them once more. Lena stood unmoving, her heart pounding.
Then, almost as if she despised herself for letting down her guard, she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I gave up a baby when I was sixteen.”
His phone buzzed insistently, the noise slicing through the tense air.
Once.
Then again,
And again.
Lena flinched at the noise as he checked his phone but didn’t answer. Even after the fourth buzz, he stood firm, ignoring it.
“Why won’t you pick up?” Lena asked, noticing the tension.
He hesitated, a lump in his throat. “Because that call represents a life I stepped away from.”
“That's vague,” she replied, surprised.
Elijah met her gaze. “It’s not ready to be clarified.”
“I didn’t mean to share that,” she whispered, feeling vulnerable.
“I know,” he said softly, maintaining emotional distance as they navigated their heavy conversation.
Lena turned away, gripping the counter for support. “You should go,” her voice shook.
“I will,” he said, lingering for a moment before stepping back.
After a brief pause, he walked out, leaving Lena alone in the flower shop. Though she didn’t cry, her heart felt heavy. She focused on cleaning the same spot on the counter repeatedly, trying to distract herself from the ache in her thoughts.
When it was time to take out the trash, she did it herself, despite Martha usually being the one to handle such duties.
As she reentered the shop, she found herself standing by the door for what felt like ages, her hand resting on the frame, frozen in place as she looked out.
The flower cooler buzzed louder than she remembered, almost drowning out her thoughts.
And the light in the shop felt different somehow—shifting from a comforting hiding place to a glaring c***k in the wall, letting in an unsettling rush of reality.
- Writer
