Episode 1

It was one of those damned rains—the kind that felt like it was trying to pull memories out from between the cracks in the asphalt.

And me? As usual, soaked hair, crooked smile, taking shelter in the flower shop.

“Lia, you’re late again!”

Margaret clicked her tongue, but well… she knows how I am. One smile, one dimple, and the world spins again.

Rain kept hammering the windows. In that wet, green-scented air, I was bundling chrysanthemums when the bell above the door rang.

I looked up. A man walked in.

His coat was soaked, hair slightly stuck to his forehead.

The look he gave me—it lasted a second, but it burned straight through me.

Calm eyes, but heavy with things unsaid.

For a few moments, the rain was the only thing breaking the silence of the world.

He looked around the shop.

And I looked at him.

Finally, he spoke:

— “I need a bouquet. Five red roses, wrapped in black paper.”

Oh, what a romantic man.

I smiled and said,

“Sure. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

His eyes lingered on my face.

It seemed like he wanted to say something, but he just nodded slightly and stepped back out.

He stood in front of the shop and lit a cigarette.

I couldn’t stop watching him—until he turned and caught me staring.

What am I doing?

I shook my head and muttered under my breath,

“Get a grip, Lia. He’s just a man.”

Then I got back to preparing his bouquet…

My hands carefully arranged the petals, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.

Each time a thorn pricked my finger, it pulled me back to the moment.

Focus, Lia. Focus.

The roses—deep red, like dried blood on velvet.

I wrapped them slowly in black paper, adding a golden ribbon for no reason other than a feeling—something inside whispered it had to be there, whether he wanted it or not.

I picked up the bouquet and walked toward the door.

He was still there.

The rain had eased, but droplets still clung to the ends of his hair.

His half-burnt cigarette curled smoke between his fingers, and his eyes…

They met mine.

Not rude, not warm—just… precise.

I held the bouquet out to him.

— “Here are your flowers, sir.”

He took it with his cold hands.

Paused for a moment.

Then, in a low voice, he asked:

— “That golden ribbon… was that your choice?”

I froze for a second.

Why did he ask that?

I gave a faint smile.

— “Yeah. I just felt like… it needed to be there.”

His eyes dropped to the flowers, then slowly rose to meet mine.

He looked at me as if he was trying to read something behind my eyes.

— “You have a very warm energy… flower girl.”

Before I could say anything, he turned and walked away.

No goodbye. No glance back.

Just the sound of his footsteps…

and the scent of wet earth

and blood-colored flowers lingering in the air.

By the end of the night, the shop was crowded,

but my mind was still there—

with the man whose name I didn’t know,

yet something told me… this was just the beginning.

And that night,

when I turned off the last light in the shop,

even the sound of the rain felt different—

like a secret sleeping beneath the skin of the city.

And I… had no idea I was about to wake it.

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