QUENTIN
As I stroll through the park, the sun filters through the vibrant leaves, casting playful shadows on the ground. I breathe in the crisp air, letting the moment wash over me, but my thoughts are tumultuous.
It's been weeks since Micah's death, and I'm still grappling with the grief that threatens to consume me. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. I need this moment to myself, away from the memories that haunt me in the sterile walls of the hospital.
Lost in thought, I navigate the familiar path, memories flooding back—sunlit afternoons spent here, laughter echoing, promises of forever. The image of Lilac f l i t s through my mind like a moth drawn to a flame. I can almost see her in that pale lavender dress, hair flowing like a cascade of silk, flowers in hand.
I haven't seen her since the last time I saw her walking down the street, and the ache of that absence lingers like a p h a n t o m limb.
Suddenly, my heart skips a beat. I catch a glimpse of her, walking somewhere else. She's radiant, even from a distance. Her hair catches the light, framing her face in a halo that makes her look ethereal.
I can't help but admire the way she holds herself, exuding a quiet strength that makes my breath hitch.
Until our eyes met.
"Quentin?" she gasped.
"Lilac?" I said confused, hardly believing my eyes. My legs move before my mind can catch up, and I stride toward her, every step a mix of hope and trepidation.
The closer I get, the more my heart races, and the gravity of the moment pulls me in.
But just as I reach her, she turns, her expression shifting from surprise to something cold and distant. My heart drops. I open my mouth to speak, but the words d i e on my tongue as she turns her back on me.
"Lilac, wait," I call out, desperation seeping into my voice. I reach out, grabbing her wrist gently, trying to hold onto the fleeting moment. "We need to talk. Please."
She freezes for a heartbeat, and I feel a flicker of hope, but then she jerks her arm away, turning to face me with her daring green eyes that pierce through me. "Talk? Really? About what, Quentin?" Her voice is steady but laced with a sharpness that cuts deeper than any knife.
"About us, Lilac. About everything. I disappeared, and I—"
YOU ARE READING
Skies & Florets
RomanceShe has built a quiet life in her small-town flower shop, surrounded by the blooms she's always loved. But as the years pass, the memory of her childhood friend-the boy who once promised to be by her side-lingers like a ghost among the petals. Now g...
