BLOOM | choi beomgyu ✓

06 | syringa

SYRINGA,

Meaningless conversations become the highlight of my day from the moment I open my eyes to the moment I fall asleep. I don't understand why I look forward to them — they were called meaningless for a reason. But such conversations, the way he spoke so calmly towards me, it made me feel warm despite the cold weather outside. Everything about him comforted me, even when he wasn't physically with me.

"I never introduced myself to you," he starts one day as I sit in my usual spot, looking at the flowers on the counter. They were different from his usual tulips. He must have grown tired of them, I think to myself, looking away from them and towards him. He wasn't looking at me — instead, he focused on watering the yellow daisies near the shop's window. "By that, I mean I've never told you my name."

"I don't need to know your name," I mumble. My eyes remain on the back of his head because I simply can't bring myself to look away. Everything he does, whether he's just standing before me or watering his flowers, he's just so graceful.

"Why not?" he asks, finally turning away from his daisies. His eyes immediately look for mine — though he doesn't have to do much searching. However, when he does find them, he smiles and his eyes shrink. It's hard not to smile back but I force myself not to.

It's hard, though, staring at someone straight in the eyes while they smile at you, expecting an answer.

I don't know.

"Your name shouldn't be a priority in a friendship," I say, breaking eye-contact. "I mean— it is important, but I don't see why we should introduce ourselves with our names."

The boy chuckles. "You're right," he says. "But it'd still be nice to know." He pauses, staring at the flowers on the rack near the window. "Daisy."

"What?"

He turns his attention back to me then points towards the daisies he had watered, smiling again. "I'll call you Daisy," he says, his eyes shining under the sun's light. I stare at him, because I have nothing to say — because looking at him was better than anything I could ever have to say.

"Why Daisy?" I ask him after a moment of silence. "What does Daisy mean to you?"

"Nothing," he laughs. "You said names were irrelevant in our friendship, but we still have to call each other something." He walks behind the counter and puts the spray bottle away. As he does so, my eyes never leave him. "I figured maybe we could call each other by nicknames," he continues, "and to me, Daisy fits you perfectly. That's all." He finishes putting things away and looks at me, using the countertop to push himself up. "What does it mean to you?"

"It's just a flower to me," I answer. "They have no meaning besides the meaning given to them."

He smiles. "Exactly."

We're silent again — he finishes his chores around the flower shop and I remain in my spot, doing nothing but watching him do so. My eyes leave his back and travel across the shop, looking at all the different flowers he had taken care of. "Iris," I say quietly, but loud enough for him to hear. He stops moving and turns around, looking at me. I point at the irises across the shop, just as he had done with the daisies. They were isolated from the other flowers, alone, but they were still beautiful. I look away from them and at him.

"I'll call you Iris."

He freezes, staring at me with an emotionless expression. It scares me, how his smile had disappeared the second I said the name of the flower, but that's only for a moment — because it isn't long before his smile decorates his face once again.

"Iris," he looks away and repeats to himself. He then nods and looks back at me. His eyes were shining again.

"I like that name."