CIGARETTES AND TULIPS // jikook

1 - the uniqueness of things

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"jimin?"

the boy turned around, surprised to look into the face of an elder man towering over the yellow flowers in the wooden shelves.

the late afternoon sun cast a golden honey hue over the room, catching the dust particles suspended in the air and giving the shop a dreamy, almost magical atmosphere.

the air was a bit hot and dusty because the sun had been shining through those windows for the whole day now.

"y-yes, sir?" the blonde boy asked, wiping his wet hands on his jeans as he walked toward the customer.

the old wooden floors creaked softly beneath his feet, a comforting sound that had become as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

"how can I help you, sir?" he asked politely, his voice carrying a gentle, calming tone that seemed to harmonize with the delicate ambiance of the shop.

however, he wasn't as calm as his soft voice made it seem...

jimin was often surprised when customers addressed him by name. it made him nervous.

he recognized this older gentleman with the white curly hair - a regular who visited the flower shop weekly, mostly buying lilies and seasonal plants. he had a tiny balcony, lush and brimming with carefully tended greenery—a fact jimin knew from the man's frequent conversations with his mother.

despite their familiarity, the knowledge that the man remembered his name left jimin feeling a bit unsettled.

he often felt like he observed people from a distance, unnoticed, almost as if he were a ghost drifting quietly through the world.

it was a strange sensation, being seen. it scared him.

the customer inquired about a particular plant, and jimin did his best to answer, guiding the man through the various options with the practiced ease of someone who had spent countless hours amidst the flora.

his heart pounded in his chest, his hands slick with sweat, despite his confidence in his knowledge.

each word somehow felt like a fragile bridge to him, teetering between clarity and miscommunication. now, that the customer knew of him, he felt more pressure to do well.

what does he think of me?

does he think I'm incompetent?

the conversation lasted a few more minutes, with jimin's anxiety ebbing and flowing like the tide. eventually, the customer decided on three plants and a beautiful bouquet of lilies, crafted by jimin himself.

there was something about flowers that made him feel profoundly empowered.

it wasn't just their enchanting, fruity, and gentle fragrance; it was the kaleidoscope of colors, the gradients that painted their delicate petals. each bouquet, with its unique blend of flowers and leaves, felt like a work of art—an ephemeral masterpiece that spoke a language beyond words.

from soft pinks and deep purples to vibrant oranges and serene blues, the flowers were jimin's silent companions. they were beautiful in their fleeting nature, a reminder of the transience of all things.

as he wrapped the customer's plants in brown paper, his mother emerged from the back room, her smile warm and welcoming.

his mother had owned this flower shop for as long as he could remember.

he had grown up among these walls, between roses and olive branches, the shop a haven of peace and beauty in an often chaotic world in the middle of busan.