chapter 10: Tulips & chamomile

[Kenan's suite]

He entered the suite, his grip firm around the bouquet of white tulips.

As he strode in, his movements carried the weight of the day—measured, yet brimming with restrained frustration. He sank onto the couch, exhaling sharply while the bouquet was still in his embrace.

"Sir, that-"

Asaph, who had been waiting, opened his mouth to report, but his words faltered the moment his gaze landed on the bouquet in Kenan's hand.

Kenan caught the hesitation instantly. His sharp gaze snapped up. "Why did you stop talking? Speak." His voice was laced with impatience.

Asaph cleared his throat. "Sir, actually, while we were interrogating that man, he attempted to harm himself. He had a poisonous capsule hidden in his teeth—he bit down on it."

Kenan's expression darkened. "WHAT?"

"We acted quickly and got him medical care, but… he might stay unconscious for at least two or three days." Asaph hesitated, knowing the news would only add to his superior's frustration.

Kenan's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together. Every step he took in this case seemed to be met with another wall. "The sooner I try to wrap this up, the more it turns into a mess," he muttered under his breath.

Then, without another word, he strode irritably toward his room, his patience fraying. Inside, he slammed the door shut, the force of it rattling through the suite.

"Damn it!" His voice was a low growl as he yanked off his jacket, tossing it onto the bed. The bouquet followed—discarded in the same frustration.

But then—his stormy thoughts paused.

His gaze fell upon the window, as he started to strode towards it in trance.

****-----*****

For a moment, his mind stilled. The same flowers from yesterday… placed there carefully, as if someone had given them a home rather than letting them wither away. His brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Secretary Asaph!" His voice rang through the suite, sharp and demanding.

Asaph appeared in the doorway almost instantly, like a summoned djinn, his stance alert, his expression cautious. "Yes, Sir?"

Kenan's fingers curled slightly as he gestured toward the vase. "What is this?"

Asaph followed his gaze. "Ah… Sir, I found those red tulips beautiful and thought they shouldn't go to waste. I placed them in a vase, so they wouldn't rot too soon."

Kenan didn't respond immediately. His storm-grey eyes remained fixed on the flowers, his expression unreadable.

Asaph hesitated. "I'm sorry if it bothered you, Sir. I can throw them away—"

Kenan lifted a hand slightly, stopping him mid-sentence. "No, it's fine. You can leave." His voice was quieter now, the sharp edge dulled just slightly.

Asaph nodded. "Goodnight, Sir." He left, shutting the door behind him.

But Kenan remained still, his hands shoved into his pockets as he continued to look at the red tulips.

After a long moment, he finally turned back toward the bed, where the white tulips lay scattered—some petals slightly crumpled from his earlier carelessness.

Something stirred within him.

He stepped closer, his fingers reaching out instinctively, as if drawn by some invisible force. Carefully, almost reverently, he gathered the white tulips into his hands. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he walked back to the vase.

One by one, he nestled the white tulips amongst the red. His touch was uncharacteristically gentle, as if he were arranging something fragile—something precious.

And when he was done, he stepped back, exhaling deeply. His gaze lingered on the mingling colors—red and white, bold and soft, passion and purity intertwined.

A small, almost imperceptible smile ghosted over his lips. His fingers traced the petals lightly, before he finally turned away.

With a deep breath, he loosened his tie, letting the tension slip from his shoulders as he made his way toward the bathroom.

And as the door clicked shut behind him, the vase stood there, holding the silent contradiction of a man who never kept flowers—yet couldn't bring himself to throw them away.

_________________

[at seashore]

The next day, he found himself at the seashore once again.

Whether it was coincidence or something else entirely, he didn't bother to question. His feet simply carried him there. His eyes scanned the area, searching… and then, just as his restless heart had anticipated, he found her.

That white Angel...

Chéri was kneeling amidst wildflowers, carefully plucking them one by one. A soft breeze played with the strands of her hair, making them dance in the morning sunlight. She was so absorbed in her task that she didn't even notice his presence.

Kenan stood there for a moment, hands shoved in his pockets as usual, watching her in silence. There was something oddly peaceful about the sight—something he wasn't used to feeling.

But then, breaking the silence, he finally spoke. "Hello."

The moment his voice reached her ears, she flinched—badly.

He immediately regretted it. "I… I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

Chéri took a deep breath, pressing a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart. "It's fine, Sir…"

Kenan shifted his weight slightly, eyeing the basket in her hands. "So… what are you doing? Stealing flowers?" His tone was teasing, lighthearted.

But her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "I beg your pardon?"

Kenan instantly realized his mistake and cursed himself in mind. 'Damn it. Why the hell do I always blabber around her foolishly?'

She held up a flower. "These grew in a public place, and they aren't under anyone's ownership." Her tone was firm, almost challenging.

"So it's not stealing, Sir." Her words carried a subtle sharpness, like a thorn hidden beneath soft petals.

Kenan sighed inwardly. He had done it again—managed to annoy her within seconds. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend you… I was just joking." He chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

But her expression remained unreadable. "Sir, I don't think we're that close to joking around."

'Damn it, Kenan'. He cursed himself.

She straightened up, brushing dirt off her dress. "Anyway, how may I help you?" Her voice was cold now, distant.

Kenan hesitated. "Umm… I actually—" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair thinking an excuse. Then he glanced at her basket. "Yeah, I want these daisies."

Chéri blinked, momentarily taken aback. Then she furrowed her brows.

Kenan instantly panicked. "I'll pay!" He blurted out.

She tilted her head slightly, her frown deepening.

Realizing how ridiculous he sounded, he slapped a hand over his forehead. 'Why do I become so damn puzzled near her?' he again cursed his stupidity inwardly.

"I'm sorry," he rushed to say, his words spilling out in one breath. "I didn't mean it that way. Please don't get me wrong again."

For the first time that morning, a small chuckle escaped her lips. And Kenan, startled by the sound, instantly looked at her face.

She wasn't laughing at him—just amused.

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Please wait, I'll make a bouquet of these chamomile for you." She squatted down again to arrange the flowers.

Kenan, without thinking, crouched beside her. "Chamomile? Aren't these daisies?" He plucked one from the basket, twirling it between his fingers.

Chéri glanced at him. "These are a bit different from daisies, but yes… they belong to the daisy family."

He hummed, still swirling the flower. "Oh, botany is interesting…"

She smiled faintly. "Yes, indeed." And then, without warning, she reached out to take the flower from his hand.

Her fingers—soft, warm—brushed against his.

A fleeting touch.

And yet, in that moment, Kenan felt his heart skip a beat.

Chéri hesitated, her eyes lifting to meet his.

And for the first time, neither of them looked away. The air between them stilled, the world around them quieting.

Her fingertips still lingered against his, but neither moved.

Seconds passed.

Finally, she blinked, clearing her throat. "Umm… Your bouquet is ready, Sir."