Ch - 3
Raffy was sitting in his cabin, focused on his work. Papers were neatly arranged, designs lay open on his desk, and the sunflower resin coaster rested quietly at the corner, as always.
He never really read magazines or online articles about market trends or famous personalities. He had entire teams and managers assigned for research, collaborations, and publicity. For him, business decisions were never about fame — they were about perfection. Love by Flowers was not just a company; it was something deeply personal, something connected to emotions he never openly spoke about.
He wanted every product, every design, every collaboration to feel genuine. Because to him, this company was never just a passion… it carried memories.
A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," he said calmly.
His media manager stepped inside with a file in her hand.
"Sir, may I talk to you for a minute?"
Raffy nodded and gestured for her to sit.
She sat down and spoke carefully, "Sir, our company is big now… I mean, one of the biggest. So why stop here? We should approach big artists for collaborations. Artists actually dream of working with Love by Flowers now."
Raffy leaned back slightly, listening attentively.
"Okay," he said simply. "Have you found someone suitable?"
Her eyes brightened. "Yes, sir. An artist bigger than anyone who has worked with our company till now. She's globally known for turning anything into expressions of love. Her art style matches our brand perfectly."
Raffy listened quietly, his interest slowly growing without him realizing why.
"She's originally from the Philippines," the manager continued. "But she lives in New York now. She moved there two years ago… right after finishing college."
Raffy's attention sharpened unconsciously. Something about the timeline felt strangely familiar, but he didn't question it. He simply kept listening, unaware that the story being described was far more personal than professional.
"She could collaborate with us and design exclusive handcrafted floral pieces," the manager added enthusiastically. "And imagine the impact if we tell people that these special handicrafts are made by the famous artist—"
Just then, his phone rang loudly on the desk.
The sudden sound echoed sharply in the quiet cabin.
"—MARIA LUNA CATINGBIG."
But Raffy couldn't hear the name clearly as he instinctively picked up his phone and declined the call, slightly annoyed by the interruption. He placed it back on the table and turned to her again.
"Sorry, continue," he said calmly.
The manager resumed, now speaking about contracts, exhibition tie-ups, and brand visibility, without repeating the name again.
Raffy listened, still feeling a strange, unexplainable pull in his chest, though he didn't know why.
After a pause, he finally said, "I'll think about it. Give me some time to decide."
The manager nodded respectfully. "Of course, sir."
"You may leave now," he added gently.
She stood up, collected her file, and walked out of the cabin.
The room returned to silence.
Raffy leaned back in his chair, unaware that just seconds ago, her name had been spoken right in front of him… yet lost in the ringing of his phone.
And far away, Maria Luna Catingbig continued her life in another country, equally unaware that her name had almost reached him, only to fade before he could truly hear it.
Just like that, once again, their lives moved in perfect parallels —
close enough to meet, yet distant enough to miss each other.