Rooftop Summer | EN- Jake

17

The floral shop smelled of sweetness and spring, a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside Jake. He stood quietly by the counter, watching the florist arrange a bouquet of yellow daisies. The bright petals reminded him of Hanna—her laughter, her warmth, and the life she had brought back into his world. But as the memory of the nurses' words replayed in his mind—she doesn't have much time left—a pang of grief struck him.

As the florist tied the final ribbon around the bouquet, Jake's gaze drifted to a shelf of small trinkets and candies displayed near the counter. His eyes landed on a jar of sour lemon candies, their bright yellow wrappers glinting under the shop's warm light. The memory of Hanna's laughter on the rooftop came rushing back, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she teased him about his reaction to the sourness.

"Ack! Why is it so sour?" he said, his face scrunched in protest.
"Hahahaha! You'll get used to it," she replied, her laughter light and free.
"The sweetness comes after the sour."

A thought took root in Jake's mind, and before he could overthink it, he asked the florist, "Can I add something to the bouquet?"

The florist looked up, curious but obliging. "Of course. What do you have in mind?"

Jake picked up a handful of the candies and held them out.
"These. Could you hide them in the bouquet? Somewhere they won't be too obvious?"

The florist's expression softened, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
"A little surprise, huh? I can do that."

He watched as she carefully tucked the candies into the folds of the flowers, nestling them between petals and leaves. When she was done, she handed the bouquet to him, and he stared at it for a moment, feeling a mixture of hope and apprehension.

With the bouquet in hand, Jake made his way to the hospital. His heart pounded with each step, the weight of what he was about to do pressing down on him. He hadn't seen Hanna since he overheard the nurses, and the thought of facing her now—of seeing her frailty up close—filled him with equal parts longing and fear.

As he reached the hospital entrance, he hesitated. What if she didn't want to see him? What if she was angry that he hadn't approached her sooner? His hand tightened around the bouquet as doubt crept in.

Instead of going to her room, Jake found himself standing at the reception desk.
"I'd like to send these flowers to a patient," he said, his voice quiet but steady.
"Please keep it anonymous."

The receptionist nodded, taking the bouquet from him.
"Who should we send it to?"

"Her name's Hanna," he said.
"She's staying here."

The receptionist smiled kindly.
"We'll make sure she gets it."

The bouquet arrived in Hanna's room later that afternoon. Her mother, who had been helping Hanna arrange the endless stream of flowers sent by friends and family, took the daisies from the nurse and added them to a vase without much thought. Hanna barely glanced at them. The sight of flowers, once vibrant and cheerful, now felt monotonous. Each bouquet was a reminder of pity and inevitability—none of them could light up her life anymore.

For the next few days, the yellow daisies arrived like clockwork. Every afternoon, the nurse would bring the bouquet to her room, and her mother would dutifully place them in the growing collection of floral arrangements crowding the windowsill. Hanna appreciated the gesture, but she didn't give the flowers much attention. They all blurred together in her mind, a sea of color that no longer held meaning.

One day, however, things were different.

Hanna's mother had to run errands and wasn't there to intercept the bouquet when it arrived. The nurse placed the yellow daisies on the table beside her bed, and for some reason she couldn't quite explain, Hanna reached out and picked them up. She adjusted the flowers, running her fingers along the delicate petals. As she shifted them in her hands, something small and hard brushed against her fingers.

Curious, she shifted the flowers aside, and her breath caught when she saw it—a familiar yellow candy wrapper tucked between the petals.

Her heart skipped a beat as she carefully pulled it free, holding the small candy in her hand. The bright yellow wrapper seemed to glow, a tiny beacon of hope in the otherwise dull monotony of her days. She didn't need to unwrap it to know what it was—sour lemon candy. Her favorite. The same candy she had shared with Jake on the rooftop.

Her thoughts raced. He had sent the flowers. He had been thinking of her, even when she couldn't reach him. A surge of emotion swelled in her chest—relief, gratitude, guilt. She wanted to see him, to thank him, to explain why she hadn't been there.

Hanna pushed the blanket off her lap and tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed, her movements clumsy and frantic.
"Nurse!" she called, her voice sharp with urgency.
"Please, I need to go. I need to—"

The nurse appeared in the doorway, frowning.
"Hanna, you can't get out of bed. It's too dangerous."

"I have to," Hanna insisted, her voice trembling with desperation.
"Please, I need to find him."

"Who?" the nurse asked, stepping closer to steady her.
"Hanna, calm down. You're not well enough to leave your room."

Tears prickled at the corners of Hanna's eyes as she clutched the bouquet and the candy tightly.
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking.
"I have to go. Just for a moment."

But the nurse shook her head, her expression gentle but firm.
"I'm sorry, Hanna. It's not safe."

Defeated, Hanna sank back into her bed, her energy spent. The candy in her hand felt warm now, as if it had absorbed the heat of her desperation. She stared at it for a long moment, her mind swirling with thoughts of Jake. He had reached out to her in the only way he could, and she was determined to find a way to reach back.

Meanwhile, Jake walked the streets outside the hospital, his thoughts heavy with worry. He wondered if Hanna had found the candy, if she had realized it was from him. He had wanted to visit her so badly, to see her smile again, but something inside him had stopped him. He didn't want to be another reminder of the weight she carried, didn't want to add to her burden.

The next day, Jake found himself back at the flower shop. The familiar scent of fresh blooms greeted him as he stepped inside, and the florist glanced up from her work, recognition lighting up her face.

"Back again?" she asked with a knowing smile.
"Let me guess—yellow daisies and those little candies?"

Jake nodded, his lips curving into a small, sheepish smile.
"Yeah. Same as before, please."

The florist chuckled as she began gathering the flowers.
"She must be someone special," she said, tucking the candies into the bouquet with practiced ease.

Jake's smile softened.
"She is."