❦
—————
I opened the door to find it waiting for me again.
A black rose lay on the floor, as perfect as the ones before it. Its petals were smooth, dark as ink, and untouched by the morning breeze. Beside it was the familiar envelope— black, sleek, and elegant.
My chest tightened.
I bent down, hesitating for just a second before picking it up. This was the eighth one this month.
Slipping back inside, I shut the door behind me and locked it twice. I placed the rose gently on the counter, its thorny stem grazing the marble surface, before tearing open the envelope.
The card inside was the same as always— white, embossed edges, expensive-looking. And, of course, the handwriting.
I didn’t need to read it. I already knew what it would say.
"Every petal is a piece of my soul, longing to reach yours. Until we meet, Y/n. – SN."
A shiver ran down my spine as my eyes traced the familiar script. The letters were sharp, deliberate, almost intimate, like a hand lingering too long on your arm.
I put the card down, swallowing the lump in my throat. I glanced at the vase sitting on the windowsill. Seven roses stared back at me, their velvety petals almost mocking.
This one made eight.
“Is it another one?”
I flinched at the voice behind me. Mica leaned against the kitchen doorway, her messy bun threatening to unravel as she sipped her coffee. Her grin stretched ear to ear, her eyes lighting up as they flicked to the rose.
“Yes,” I said flatly.
Mica let out an exaggerated squeal, nearly spilling her coffee. “Eight roses this month? That’s, like, super romantic!”
I frowned, “It’s not romantic, Mica.” But she ignored me and giggled like a teenager when they see their crush.
“Come on! A secret admirer, mysterious notes, roses? If this isn’t romance, I don’t know what is.”
“It’s creepy.”
I shoved the rose into the vase with the others, the stem scraping against the glass. “I don’t know who’s sending these. For all we know, it could be some lunatic.”
Mica rolled her eyes. “Or it could be some rich, devastatingly gorgeous stranger who’s hopelessly in love with you.”
“You sound like you’re writing a bad fanfic,” I muttered, crossing my arms.
“Hey, don’t knock it until you know for sure.” Mica set her coffee down and leaned in, wiggling her eyebrows.
“What if this SN is, like, a tall, brooding CEO? Or— or some sexy rockstar who’s obsessed with you? I mean, whoever they are, they’ve got taste.” She motioned towards my direction, looking me over from head to toe.
I shook my head. “Mica, normal people don’t send anonymous notes and — specifically —BLACK ROSES, to strangers.” I raised an eyebrow as I added, “It’s not romantic. That's called 'stalking'.”
