Y/N's POV:
Five years.
Five agonizing years had passed since I last saw the fire in Haerin’s eyes, a fire that I, in my infinite stupidity, had extinguished with the icy hand of abandonment.
Stepping off the plane, the familiar scent of Seoul's humid air did little to calm the storm brewing inside me.
It was a storm of guilt, regret, and a sliver of hope, as thin and fragile as a spider’s thread.
I had spent these past years building a life I never wanted, a life devoid of her infectious laughter, her comforting presence.
Success had lost its luster, money its allure; everything felt hollow without Haerin to share it with.
My driver, sensing my apprehension, kept his eyes on the road. After what felt like an eternity, the car rolled to a stop in front of a familiar flower shop.
"Jasmine Dreams". Haerin always did have a flair for the dramatic.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat urging me forward.
I stepped out, the scent of lilies and roses washing over me, a poignant reminder of the woman who haunted my every waking moment.
Taking a deep breath, I entered the shop. As the bell above the door chimed, she looked up, her eyes widening imperceptibly.
Time may have softened the edges of her youthful face, but it had only intensified the beauty that had captivated me all those years ago.
"Haerin," I breathed, my voice catching in my throat.
She remained silent, her expression unreadable. The years had etched a strength onto her features, a strength born out of pain. My pain.
"Can I… can I buy a bouquet?" My voice was a pathetic whisper.
"Of course," she replied, her voice devoid of any emotion. "What occasion?"
"An apology," I confessed, meeting her gaze directly for the first time. "A long overdue apology."
***
Haerin's POV:
"An apology."
The word hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken emotions.
My heart, once a fluttering bird at the mere mention of his name, now felt like a stone lodged in my chest.
Five years. He had the audacity to waltz back into my life after five long years, expecting forgiveness to be handed to him like a bouquet of lilies.
"What kind of flowers would you like?" I asked, my voice betraying nothing of the turmoil that raged within me.
He hesitated, his gaze lingering on my face as if searching for some flicker of recognition, some sign that the girl he once knew still existed beneath the carefully constructed walls I had built around my heart.
"Surprise me," he finally said, his voice husky with emotion.
Turning away, I started assembling a bouquet, each stem a symbol of a different memory: the vibrant yellow sunflowers we used to chase on lazy summer days, the delicate white lilies that reminded me of his touch, and the thorns of red roses, a testament to the pain he had inflicted.
As I arranged the flowers, a single red rose slipped from my grasp, falling onto the counter with a soft thud.
He reached out to pick it up, his fingers brushing against mine for the briefest of moments.
