The morning light spilled gently through the stained glass, casting fractured rainbows across the wooden floorboards. The bookstore breathed quietly around Liora as she unlocked the door, the familiar scent of old paper and beeswax polish greeting her like an old friend. Outside, the drizzle lingered, painting the streets with a muted gloss, but inside, time moved slower — steady, sure.
She arranged the new arrivals on the shelf, her fingers tracing the spines as if memorizing their stories before anyone else could. It was a ritual she cherished — a small act of control in a world that often felt like it was shifting beneath her feet.
The city was waking up, but the shop was still wrapped in a gentle hush. Only the soft thrum of distant traffic and the occasional clink of a coffee cup from the café next door punctuated the quiet.
Her thoughts drifted back to last night — that fleeting shadow at the window, the whisper of movement in the rain. She hadn't dared to imagine more, but something about it lingered like a faint scent on the breeze, impossible to forget.
Liora poured herself a fresh cup of tea, the steam rising between her palms, warm and fragrant. She settled into the worn armchair by the window, the cushions familiar and comforting beneath her. From here, she could see the city's slow awakening — umbrellas dotting the sidewalks, the quickened pace of footsteps searching for shelter.
The bell above the door tinkled softly, drawing her attention. But it wasn't the usual customer. She glanced up, expecting to see a regular face, but the doorway was empty.
A folded piece of paper lay where the stranger must have paused, tucked beneath a small vase of wildflowers. Liora's heart quickened as she reached out, fingers trembling slightly, to retrieve it.
Unfolding the note, her eyes scanned the delicate handwriting:
"Some flowers speak louder than words. Find me where the city touches the sky. Tonight, 7 pm."
The message stirred something she wasn't ready to name — a mixture of curiosity and caution twisting in her gut. Who was this person, weaving riddles through petals and ink? What did they want from her?
Liora's gaze fell on the flowers beside the note — sprigs of forget-me-nots and white lilies. Symbols she knew well. Love, remembrance, farewell.
Her fingers brushed the delicate petals, tracing the edges as memories flickered — conversations with her mother, lessons learned in silence, the unspoken language of goodbyes wrapped in blooms.
She folded the note carefully and tucked it into her coat pocket, her mind racing with possibilities. The quiet sanctuary she had built around herself felt fragile now, threatened by the weight of a secret waiting just beyond reach.
The hours stretched long as she moved through the day, each tick of the clock drawing her closer to the moment she had no choice but to face.
Even as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the city, Liora's thoughts remained tangled in the mystery of a stranger whose voice she hadn't heard but whose presence whispered through the petals left behind.
Some flowers meant love. Others meant goodbye.
And tonight, she
would begin to understand both.