Sara Ikari Rodriguez
I told myself it was just a gift.
A beautiful, slightly overdramatic bouquet from someone too cowardly to sign their name.
I stared at it every day for three days.
The flowers didn’t wilt.
The note didn’t make sense.
And the longer I stared at it, the more the words twisted into something that didn’t feel romantic — it felt... watched.
“Some things are better watched from afar. But I’ll be closer than you think.”
Not exactly the stuff of heartfelt confessions.
At first, I thought Matio had sent it.
A weird way to apologize, maybe. Or avoid apologizing.
But when I texted him — a simple “Was it you?” — I got no reply.
Not even the usual cold one-worder.
Nothing.
I didn’t toss the bouquet. I should have.
Instead, I moved it to the corner of my room — not be
