A vase appeared by the window just as she walked in, long before I heard her speak, that first time after waking up. Bright petals spilled into the stillness, filling corners where silence had settled.
One by one, yellow heads turn up to face the sun. Not just cheerful - wildly so, too bright to miss.
Bunched tight on the ledge, each one leans out, spilling past the edge like they own it.
"I didn't know what you liked," she said, trying to arrange them without knocking over the water pitcher. "So I got the happiest flowers I could find. To match your personality."
A thread of hair fell over her face as she leaned toward the stems. Focused on what she was doing, her brow showed a small line. Denim hugged her legs. A wide sweater hung loose, sleeves pushed up past the wrists. The shoes - childish cats printed wild across the canvas - caught light from the window. Bare arms moved slow, careful with each cut. Nothing else felt real near that moment.
