At first, Adrian thought no one noticed. A tie with blue stripes, a brighter expression, a slower pace — these were small things, hardly worth comment. But in the polished glass towers of his workplace, even the smallest shift stood out.
"New look?" a colleague asked one morning, eyeing Adrian's tie with a smirk. "Didn't know finance was turning into fashion week." The others laughed. It was harmless, but the jab lingered longer than he wanted it to.
Later, during lunch, he mentioned stopping at the park over the weekend. Someone raised an eyebrow. "You? In a park? I thought spreadsheets were your only scenery." Again, laughter. Adrian forced a smile, but inside, something tightened.
That night, back in his apartment, he stared at the sunflowers on his table. For the first time since he'd bought them, they looked out of place. Too bright, too loud — almost mocking him with their cheer. He thought about throwing them away.
But then, unbidden, came the memory of Elara in the park. Her scarf catching the wind. Her brush moving without hesitation. The way she lived as if the world's colors weren't just scenery, but necessity .She hadn't told him to change. She hadn't suggested a different life. She simply existed — unapologetic, vibrant, alive.
. And because of that, Adrian couldn't go back to pretending he didn't notice the grey in his own life.
The next morning, he left the flowers where they were. Not out of defiance, not even out of courage, but because he realized something important:
The world might laugh, question, or resist. But this was his life. And he was tired of blending in.