The flowers arrived every morning.
Always just after eight.
Anna learned the sound of it—the soft knock, the brief pause, the muffled footsteps retreating down the hallway. When she opened the door, the arrangements filled the frame: white petals layered with pale pink, stems cut cleanly, wrapped in heavy paper that brushed against her wrists as she took them.
They were too large for the space.
She set the first few by the window. By the fourth day, they crowded the kitchen counter. By the seventh, the apartment smelled permanently sweet, thick enough to cling to her clothes.
There were no notes.
No messages.
Her phone stayed quiet on the table, screen dark, reflecting the colors of the flowers whenever she passed.
On the fifth morning, she stood in the doorway longer than necessary, fingers resting against the paper, waiting for something else to happen.
Nothing did.
By the end of the week, Mia noticed.
"You've been staring at your phone a lot," Mia said, sitting cross-legged on Anna's bed. The curtains were half-drawn, afternoon light slipping in through the gap. "Still nothing?"
Anna shook her head. "Just… this."
She gestured toward the living room, where another bouquet waited in a glass vase.
Mia smiled. "That's his way."
Anna sat on the edge of the bed, pressing her palms into the mattress. "It feels strange."
Mia tilted her head. "Strange how?"
Anna searched for the word, then let it go. "Like I'm supposed to understand something I haven't been told."
Mia laughed softly. "You're overthinking."
She shifted closer, her voice lowering. "You could help him a little."
Anna frowned. "How?"
"A photo," Mia said lightly.
Anna stiffened at once. "No."
Mia raised both hands. "Not like that."
"I don't want to—" Anna stopped, her fingers curling into the fabric of the bedspread. "That feels wrong."
Mia's tone didn't change. "I didn't say anything inappropriate. Just a normal photo. Something… respectful."
The word settled between them.
"He's very serious," Mia continued. "Men like him don't enjoy attention-seeking behavior."
Anna looked at her. "What kind of behavior?"
Mia's smile stayed gentle. "Too much skin. Too much invitation."
She paused, watching Anna's face. "He's the kind of man who values restraint."
The room felt smaller.
"You've only been with one person, right?" Mia asked.
Anna nodded slowly. "Just one."
"And for years."
"Since high school."
Mia's smile deepened, satisfied. "That's good."
Anna shifted. "Why does that matter?"
"It tells him who you are," Mia said. "Someone loyal. Someone careful."
She stood and crossed the room, opening her suitcase. The zipper sounded too loud in the quiet.
"Here," she said.
The dress slid out between her fingers, pale and structured. When Anna touched it, the fabric felt heavier than she expected.
"I don't usually wear things like this," Anna said.
"I know," Mia replied gently. "That's why it works."
She set the dress on the bed and opened a small velvet box.
The necklace inside was dark, the stone deep and glossy. When Anna lifted it, the metal was cold against her skin, the weight unfamiliar.
"It's beautiful," Anna said, hesitating. "But it feels…"
"Grounding," Mia said. "He'll like that."
Anna changed in silence.
The dress held her tightly at the waist, the seams firm, unyielding. The necklace rested against her collarbone like an anchor. When she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself.
She looked composed.
Contained.
"I don't like this," she said quietly.
Mia stepped behind her, fastening the clasp. Her fingers were warm. Steady.
"You don't have to like it," she said. "Just trust me."
They took the photo quickly.
Anna stood by the window. Light brushed her face. The flowers blurred behind her, pale and indistinct. She didn't smile.
"Send it," Mia said.
Anna held the phone in both hands.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. Her stomach tightened.
"I don't like this pace," she said.
Mia's voice softened further. "Neither does he."
Anna's breath caught.
She held the phone in both hands.
The screen felt warmer than it should have, the light too bright against her fingers. For a moment, she didn't move. Her thumb hovered above the message field, then drifted away again.
This wouldn't help, she thought.
Whatever this was, it wasn't supposed to begin like this. It felt… off. Not wrong enough to stop, but not right enough to trust.
She stared at the photo once more. The dress. The necklace. The way she barely recognized the girl standing by the window.
She typed slowly.
Thank you for the flowers.
She paused, then added another word, as if to soften it.
They're beautiful.
She read the message twice. It sounded polite. Safe. Like gratitude, nothing more. Not an invitation. Not a promise.
Her chest felt tight as she pressed send.
The reply came before she could lower the phone.
The screen lit up in her hand, the vibration sharp against her palm.
If you'd like,
we could go somewhere quiet for a few days.
A cabin? Away from the city.
There was no insistence in them, no demand. The choice sat neatly in her hands.
Her heart still jumped hard enough to make her dizzy.
She hadn't said yes.
But it didn't feel like a question anymore.
Mia leaned over her shoulder, her reflection appearing faintly on the dark screen.
"See?" she said softly.
Anna didn't answer.
Her phone was still warm.
Her fingers hadn't moved.
It was something closer to being drawn forward, gently, without knowing why.
What she felt wasn't romance.
Not exactly.
The necklace felt heavier.
The dress too tight.
Outside, the afternoon light faded, shadows stretching across the floor.
Mia straightened slowly.
She moved to the window first, adjusting the curtain so the light fell more evenly across the room. The flowers shifted slightly as she brushed past them, petals trembling, then settling again.
"That was thoughtful," Mia said at last. "Your message."
Anna glanced up. "It was just… polite."
Mia smiled. "Exactly."
She stepped closer, resting one hand lightly on the back of the chair. Not touching Anna. Not yet.
"If you're going somewhere quiet," she continued, "you should look like you belong there."
Anna frowned faintly. "What do you mean?"
Mia's tone stayed gentle. "Nothing complicated."
She crossed to the wardrobe and slid the door open, scanning the rows of clothes with a practiced eye.
"Nothing too soft," she said, fingertips brushing past a sweater Anna liked. "And nothing that feels like you're trying."
She pulled out a coat instead—clean lines, neutral color.
"This," she said. "It keeps its shape."
Anna hesitated. "I don't usually wear that one."
Mia nodded. "That's alright."
She set it aside, then reached for shoes. Flat. Practical. Easy to walk in.
"You don't want to look uncertain," she added lightly. "And you don't want to look like you're waiting for something."
Anna shifted on the chair. "I wasn't planning on—"
"I know," Mia said quickly. "I'm just helping you prepare."
She moved to the table, picking up Anna's bag. She opened it without asking, rearranging what was inside with small, efficient movements.
"No clutter," she murmured. "Just what you need."
She slipped a wallet into a smaller pocket. Removed a lip gloss. Added it back again.
"Keep your phone charged," Mia said. "And share your news with me. Just in case."
Anna's fingers tightened around the edge of the chair. "That feels a bit much."
Mia looked at her then, expression softening. Concerned.
"You don't have to," she said with a small smile. "I only want what's best for you."
She closed the bag gently and set it down between them.
"It's better to be cautious," she added. "Especially with men like him."
Anna swallowed. "What kind of men?"
Mia smiled, reassuring. "The serious kind."
She reached for the necklace Anna was still wearing, adjusting it so it lay flatter against her collarbone. The stone felt colder now.
"This is fine," Mia said. "It reminds him you're composed."
Anna didn't answer.
Her gaze drifted back to her phone, still glowing faintly on the table.
The message waited.
Mia followed her gaze.
"You don't have to decide right now," she said softly. "Just don't rush yourself."
Her hand rested briefly over Anna's wrist. Warm. Steady.
"We'll take it one step at a time," Mia continued. "I'll be right here."
Anna nodded, though she wasn't sure why.
The room felt smaller again.
The air thicker.
She picked up her phone, just to hold it.
The weight of it felt different now, heavier somehow, as if it already carried a consequence she couldn't name.
Mia watched her from the doorway, dress laid carefully over her arm. She didn't say You should text him back. She only smiled, patient and warm, as if she understood that some decisions needed silence more than encouragement.
Outside the window, the sky was dimming. The streetlights flickered on one by one, tracing a road that seemed to stretch farther than it should have.
Something was wrong.
Anna felt it the way you feel a change in pressure—no sharp pain, just a quiet unease settling beneath her ribs. She scrolled up, rereading his message. The words were the same as before. Polite. Considerate. Unrushed.
He's so handsome, she thought.
So gentle. So attentive.
Different.
Too different.
No one had ever waited for her like this. No one had ever made space for her hesitation, her silences. Her ex's voice rose unbidden in her memory—sharp, dismissive, always impatient. An asshole, really. Maybe that was the problem.
Maybe her instincts were broken.
Maybe she'd simply grown used to choosing wrong.
This man—this man was careful with her. Thoughtful. Almost unreal. She had never met anyone like him before, and perhaps that was why she couldn't find the right place to stand. No clear reason to stop. No clear reason to run.
You're overthinking it, she told herself.
You finally met someone decent, and you don't know how to accept it.
Mia caught her eye then and gave a small nod. Not a push. Just permission.
Anna exhaled slowly.
She typed her reply.
Her thumb hovered for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Then she pressed send.