Our Secret Love, Held In The Petals

Is This Love At First Sight?

Her eyes met mine.

I stood still, taking in the soft atmosphere of the flower boutique—the very reason I had first been drawn here. Tucked away, nestled between two unassuming buildings, the soft lavender walls stood out like a rare amethyst. Intricate and delicate floral emblems were etched in eggshell white and climbed across the lilac walls like ivy, adding to the elegance. Vines twisted and winded around the ornate window arches as if nature itself had woven the architecture.

Above the doorway, a pair of carved birds frozen mid-flight, perched timelessly. The lavender walls softened the eggshell carvings, creating a perfect blend of nature and artistry as if the shop was alive. The soft hues drew attention away from the beige and brown neighbouring buildings that lined the quieter streets of Vichy.

The flowers outside were vibrant; tulips, hyacinths, primroses, and an array of blossoming flowers lined every corner from the entrance to the windows in stunning arrangements of colour. Inside, the floral scent was almost intoxicating, being sweet and overwhelming in the best way possible. Display stands lined the tiled floors, the walls painted a serene baby blue, holding beautiful bouquets of every shade imaginable, all shapes and sizes were beautifully arranged throughout the shop. Some stands were labelled alphabetically, others by colour. The stands labelled by colour blended from vibrant reds, into bold oranges, calming blues, purples, and indigos. At the back of the shop, a desk with a cash register was adorned with flowers in blues, reds, and purples. Yet the main attraction stood behind the counter: the cashier.

The dark green of her eyes, like the heart of a forest, standing out from the light blue morning glories, drew me in, controlling me as I kept getting sucked in deeper and deeper, as I subconsciously picked up a single purple rose. My grip loosened on a purple rose, my fingers growing numb as I slowly set it down, my heart quickening. My eyes traced her soft face, my breath hitching slightly as warmth bloomed in my chest. The flowers which laid in front of me didn't give me any interest, but... she did. She was so stunningly beautiful, I couldn't help but admire her.

I shouldn't be feeling this way, I thought, as the scent of hyacinth wrapped around me like a thick fog. My stomach tightened, twisting like the delicate vines on the outside walls. I was here for my husband, after all—he was leaving, and I was searching for a bouquet for his parting gift. But the flowers I had imagined earlier now seemed distant, irrelevant as guilt sat in my chest like a heavy stone.

For a moment, my thoughts shifted to my husband—how I once felt the way I do, for him. We had shared moments full of warmth, laughter, and love for a year. Yet lately, that love had very slowly started to wither. I wonder, had it been lost to time, or have I never truly felt it? The guilt was heavy, it was as if the scarce soft petals scattered on the floor were closing in on me, reminding me of the vows that I had made. Yet I couldn't get rid of this feeling, one that I haven't properly felt in our marriage.

I got lost deeper in my thoughts when I realised our eyes had met, her gaze locking with mine. My pulse thundered in my ears growing louder than the faint sounds around the shop. The floral scents, which were sweet, clung in the air making the room seem smaller and stifling. My skin suddenly felt too warm, like a soft heat was crawling up my neck as if the sun streaming through the ornate window had intensified, settling deep into my skin.

I always thought of myself as a confident person but at that moment all my confidence seemed to shatter, I felt breathless and exposed.

In the heat of that moment, I grabbed a randomly arranged bouquet, my fingers fumbling over the delicate green stems, hiding my face behind it to look like I was considering buying it. My palms felt clammy against the smooth petals. I had to get control of myself. I examined each petal of the bouquet, trying to steady my heart. I remembered what I was here for— to get some flowers for my dear husband, who was leaving for war. But lately, I realised I didn't love him as much as I thought I did. The guilt, once heavy, began to mix with confusion. What was I feeling?

How could I be thinking of her when my husband was leaving for war?

As I set down the bouquet, I hurriedly picked up the perfect bouquet for my husband—a beautifully arranged assortment of the most beautiful peonies, the pink hues mixing just right to make a splash of pink that would be pleasing to anyone's eyes. I stared down at them, as I walked up to the cash register of the small but cosy flower boutique, my head finally turning up to meet hers.

I had never been that anxious in my life, she was even more beautiful up close.

"Is that all for today ma'am?"

Her smooth voice sang to me like a melody, effortlessly pulling me out of my daydreaming trance. My throat tightened, and I suddenly became hyper-aware of how fast my heart was beating. Her perfect soft rosy lips kept her smile at me — a shade of dusty pink so delicate, matching the shade of the petals of the flowers she sold. My breath got caught in my chest.

For a moment I couldn't speak. The words stuck to the back of my throat, thick and heavy like they didn't want to come out. When I finally managed to reply, my voice sounded awkward even to my own ears.

"Oh, yes... thank you"

I forced a confident smile, even though I could feel the heat rushing to my cheeks. I'm sure it looked like an écolière* trying to smile at a Sixième* school crush. My hands shook slightly as I reached into my bag, fumbling with the wallet inside.

I could feel her soft forest green eyes watching me, having a steady and calm gaze, unaware of the chaos she was causing inside of me. Her soft fingers brushed mine lightly as I quickly slid the money over the counter. The simple touch which sent a jolt of energy throughout my body, like a spark travelling up my arm.

"Thank you for purchasing, have a nice day" Her smooth voice followed me with warmth as I was about to open the door, seeming as if she was truly wishing me well.

"You too!" I blurted out, rushing over my words. My voice trembled, and I could feel my heart thrashing against my ribs as I turned toward the door. The bells chimed, ringing over my reply as I pushed it open.

I could barely catch my breath as I quickly slipped out, each step out of the boutique feeling heavier than the last. My face burned, turning so red from embarrassment it could blend in with a field of poppies. The cold air outside did little to cool the rising heat in my chest, though it grounded me, if only for a moment.

For a brief moment, I stood there, feeling the weight of my emotions. The cool air contrasted sharply with the warmth that clung to me from inside the boutique. The streets of Vichy seemed even quieter, the noise of the world muffled under my emotions, just like the soft rustle of petals brushing in the breeze. Despite the fresh air, I could still feel that same feeling wrapping around me, like the lingering scent of the blossoms inside. My fingers gripped the bouquet tightly as if it could anchor me to reality. But my thoughts were still inside, with her.

I dared to glance back through the curved window, my gaze found her once more. I watched as she turned to tend to freesias, her gentle hands brushing the flowers that had not yet been pruned.

The moment faded away like dandelion seeds carried by the wind, yet the memory of her voice, touch, and smile lingered—just like the sweet scent of flowers in the air. Was I ever going to come back? The questions filled my mind, battling against the guilt that clung to my heart like vines wrapping around a crumbling wall. I stood there with my husband's bouquet in hand, I just couldn't help to wonder, If the war inside of me had just begun.

*écolière~school girl

*Sixième~sixth grade