Roses are red, violet are blue

Chapter 14: Sunflower Shadows

The late afternoon sun poured through the windows of The Petal Whisperer, casting a warm, golden glow across the shop. Lila stood by the counter, her gaze drifting toward a bucket of sunflowers placed near the entrance. Their large, bright faces tilted upward, as if reaching for the sunlight that streamed in.

Something about the sight of them made her heart clench. Sunflowers—joyful, bold, impossible to ignore. She hadn't thought about them in a long time, and yet, here they were, tugging at the edges of a memory she wasn't sure she was ready to face.

Her hands stilled over the bouquet she was working on, the scissors in her grip suddenly heavy. The vibrant yellow petals of the sunflowers seemed to radiate a warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill that had settled in her chest. Before she could stop herself, the memory unfolded, vivid and raw.

---

It had been a cold, gray morning when they argued. Lila couldn't even remember what had sparked it—a disagreement over their schedules, or maybe something trivial about their weekend plans. Whatever it was, the argument had left her frustrated and teary-eyed, her words sharper than she'd intended.

James had always been the calm one, the peacemaker. But that day, even he had snapped, his voice tinged with exasperation as he tried to reason with her.

"Why do you always assume the worst?" he'd asked, his tone cutting.

The words had stung more than she'd expected, and she'd retreated to their bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She spent the rest of the day fuming, her mind replaying the argument in a loop. She told herself she was right, that James didn't understand her point of view. But beneath her anger was a gnawing guilt, a small voice that whispered she had been unfair to him.

When she finally emerged hours later, the apartment was eerily quiet. She stepped into the living room, her heart heavy, only to freeze in place.

The entire room was filled with sunflowers.

Every surface—tables, shelves, even the floor—was covered in vases and buckets overflowing with the bright, cheerful blooms. Their golden faces seemed to light up the space, chasing away the lingering shadows of their argument.

In the center of it all stood James, holding a single sunflower in his hand. He had a sheepish grin on his face, the kind that always made her laugh no matter how upset she was.

"What… what is this?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and emotion.

"I messed up," James said simply, stepping toward her. "And I know I can be stubborn sometimes, but I don't want to stay mad at each other. So…" He gestured around the room. "Sunflowers. They mean adoration. And also loyalty, I think? Or maybe I just Googled something cheesy to fix this."

Lila couldn't help it; she laughed. It was a small sound at first, but it quickly grew, bubbling up from deep inside her.

James's grin widened, and he held out the sunflower to her. "You don't have to forgive me right now," he said. "But I hope this helps."

She took the flower, her fingers brushing against his, and suddenly all the anger and frustration melted away. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

"You're impossible," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Maybe," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "But you love me anyway."

She laughed again, nodding against him. "I do. Even when you drive me crazy."

---

The memory faded, leaving Lila standing in the middle of her shop, the bucket of sunflowers still in her line of sight. She blinked, her eyes stinging as the warmth of the memory gave way to a familiar ache.

James had always had a way of making her laugh, even in the darkest moments. He had been her sunshine, her steady rock, the one who could turn even the most mundane days into something extraordinary.

She reached for one of the sunflowers, her fingers tracing the rough texture of the stem and the soft curve of the petals. The flower felt alive, its vibrant energy a stark contrast to the hollowness inside her.

The shop was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator in the back. She closed her eyes, letting herself be transported back to that moment in their living room, surrounded by laughter and love.

But when she opened her eyes, she was alone again, the sunflowers a silent reminder of what she had lost.

A customer entered the shop, the bell above the door chiming softly. Lila quickly wiped her eyes and forced a smile, turning to greet the older woman who stepped inside.

"Those sunflowers are lovely," the woman said, her gaze landing on the bucket. "They always remind me of my late husband. He used to bring them home for me every summer."

Lila's breath caught, and for a moment, she wasn't sure what to say. She nodded, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. "They have a way of brightening up any room," she said, selecting a few stems and wrapping them in brown paper.

As she handed the bouquet to the woman, their eyes met, and Lila saw a flicker of understanding there. The woman smiled gently, as though she could sense the shared grief between them.

"Thank you," the woman said softly. "They're perfect."

After the woman left, Lila stood by the door, watching her walk down the street with the sunflowers in hand. She felt a strange mixture of sadness and comfort, as though the act of sharing the flowers had lightened her burden, even if only slightly.

She turned back to the bucket of sunflowers, their golden faces seeming to watch her. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to smile, a small, bittersweet curve of her lips.

James had always believed in the power of small gestures, in the way a single flower or a heartfelt apology could mend even the deepest wounds.

And maybe, just maybe, those sunflowers still held a piece of that belief—a reminder that even in the shadows of grief, there was room for light.