Roses are red, violet are blue

Chapter 11: The First Lily

The morning light filtered through the windows of The Petal Whisperer, bathing the shop in a soft golden hue. Lila stood behind the counter, mechanically arranging flowers in a vase, her hands moving on instinct. The shop smelled of earth and blooms—a fragrance she usually found comforting. But today, it felt different, heavier, as though the scent carried memories she wasn't ready to face.

Her fingers brushed against a single white lily resting in a bucket by the counter. She paused, her hand hovering over the delicate petals. The flower seemed out of place amidst the vibrant reds, pinks, and yellows that surrounded it. Lila didn't remember ordering lilies this week. Maybe it had come in by mistake, or perhaps one of her assistants had added it without her knowing.

The faint, sweet aroma of the lily wafted up, and her chest tightened. She hadn't seen lilies—really seen them—since James.

Before she could stop herself, her mind spiraled back to a rainy evening years ago, their third date.

---

The rain was relentless that night, drumming against the windshield of James's car as he parked outside her apartment. Lila sat in the passenger seat, fiddling with the edge of her coat, trying not to smile too much. She had promised herself she wouldn't fall for him so quickly, but James had a way of making her feel safe in a way no one else ever had.

"I know it's a bit cliché," James said, breaking her thoughts. He leaned over, pulling a bouquet of white lilies from the backseat. They were slightly damp, the petals glistening like they'd been kissed by the rain.

"Lilies?" Lila asked, raising an eyebrow. She took the bouquet, inhaling their soft, almost innocent scent. "Aren't these… a bit funerary?"

James laughed, a sound that warmed her more than the car's heater ever could. "Not these ones. I did my research. White lilies mean new beginnings. Thought it was fitting."

"New beginnings?" she teased, holding one up to inspect it. "That's a lot of pressure for a third date."

"Maybe," James replied, a playful grin spreading across his face. "But I like to think I'm off to a pretty good start."

Her cheeks flushed. She tried to come up with a witty retort, but before she could, James reached over, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"I mean it, Lila," he said softly. His voice lost its usual teasing tone, replaced with something deeper, more earnest. "This feels like something special. Like a new beginning for both of us."

The sincerity in his eyes was disarming, and Lila felt her defenses crumble. She leaned forward and kissed him, the bouquet of lilies cradled between them, filling the air with their delicate fragrance.

---

The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Lila standing in the middle of the shop, the lily still in her hand. She blinked, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. The warmth from the memory lingered, but it was quickly overshadowed by the familiar ache in her chest—the one that came every time she thought of James.

She placed the lily on the counter, staring at it as though it might speak to her. It was just a flower, she told herself. Just a beautiful bloom, pure and simple. But to her, it was a symbol of something far more profound.

The shop felt too quiet, the silence pressing down on her like a weight. She glanced at the clock—it was still early, not many customers would come in for at least another hour. The thought both comforted and unnerved her. She needed the distraction of work, but she also dreaded the questions customers sometimes asked about her floral arrangements.

Her gaze drifted back to the lily. She picked it up again, running her fingers over the smooth petals. The flower felt alive, fragile yet resilient, much like she used to feel before the accident. Before James was taken from her in a moment that still didn't seem real.

"New beginnings," she whispered to herself, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. How could there be new beginnings when her life had been so violently interrupted?

She walked to the front of the shop, placing the lily in a small glass vase on the windowsill. The sunlight caught the white petals, making them glow. It was beautiful, almost painfully so.

---

The bell above the door chimed, pulling Lila from her thoughts. A young woman stepped in, her arms filled with books. She looked around, her eyes landing on the displays of roses and daisies.

"Hi there," the woman said, smiling warmly. "I'm looking for something simple but meaningful. Maybe for a friend who's going through a tough time?"

Lila forced a smile, masking the turmoil beneath the surface. "Of course. Let me show you a few options."

As she walked the woman through the various arrangements, Lila found herself suggesting lilies. "They symbolize new beginnings," she said, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. "They can be a comforting reminder that even in tough times, there's hope for something fresh and beautiful."

The woman nodded, her eyes lighting up. "That's perfect. I'll take a bouquet of lilies, then."

Lila worked in silence, carefully wrapping the lilies in tissue paper. She added a sprig of baby's breath for a touch of softness, tying the bouquet with a pale green ribbon. When she handed it to the woman, their fingers brushed, and Lila felt a strange sense of connection.

"Thank you," the woman said, her voice gentle. "I think this will mean a lot to her."

Lila watched as the woman left, the bell chiming again as the door closed behind her. For a moment, the shop felt unbearably quiet again. She turned back to the vase on the windowsill, where the single lily stood, illuminated by the sunlight.

---

She leaned against the counter, allowing herself a moment of vulnerability. The memory of James was still fresh, the pain of his absence still sharp. But as she stared at the lily, she felt something else stir within her. It wasn't hope—not yet—but perhaps the faintest flicker of acceptance.

Maybe James was right, all those years ago. Maybe lilies really did mean new beginnings.

For now, though, Lila wasn't ready to embrace that idea fully. The ache was still too deep, the wound too raw. But she didn't move the lily from its place on the windowsill.

It could stay there, a quiet reminder of the love she had lost—and perhaps, someday, a symbol of the strength she might find again.