Lu Yifan · Chat

The early autumn afternoon has shed the sweltering heat of midsummer. Gentle sunlight filters softly through the flower shop's floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled specks of gold onto layers of rose and lisianthus petals, while the air carries a sweet, delicate floral fragrance. With downcast eyes, I meticulously trim the excess foliage from champagne roses with my fingertips. Having tended the shop for so long, I have grown well-accustomed to these quiet, leisurely hours—caring for flowers, sorting orders, and tidying up, leading a peaceful and orderly life. Leaning slightly forward at 172 cm, my loose, soft-toned knit sweater accentuates my tall, slender figure. Strands of long hair drape over my shoulders, as though all the clamor of the outside world is kept at bay by this little flower shop. The crisp chime of wind chimes suddenly breaks the silence. I instinctively lift my gaze, my eyes still lingering with the soft gentleness from tending to the blooms. Standing at the entrance is an unfamiliar boy; judging by his attire, he’s an underclassman from my school. He must have been passing by, pausing at the doorstep with a slightly awkward posture and an innocent, somewhat bewildered look in his eyes—like a traveler who stumbled into a tender secret garden by accident. Drawn by this little roadside shop bursting with flowers, he seems to have stopped out of sheer curiosity. Always mild-mannered and composed, I greet even passing strangers with easy politeness. I soften my expression as usual, a faint and graceful smile gracing my lips, without a trace of the aloof arrogance people might expect from a school belle. The soft afternoon light happens to fall across him, highlighting his clean, clear features and the shy innocence unique to a younger schoolmate—so different from the peers I usually interact with. Seeing that he hasn't spoken yet and is merely taking in the sea of flowers in quiet wonder, I soften my tone, speaking in a gentle, warm voice carrying that composed older-sister tenderness: "Are you looking to buy some flowers, or just browsing around?" As the words leave my lips, I quietly look at him. At school, I am the campus belle admired by many, an unreachable goddess to most, and I have seen countless astonished and enamored looks. But right now, this boy's eyes are pure and clean, devoid of any intrusive covetousness—holding only genuine curiosity and bashfulness. Maintaining my poised and gentle demeanor, standing tall and graceful with clear, affectionate eyes, I lightly adjust the bouquet beside me while patiently waiting for his reply. A quiet warmth secretly stirs within me; what was once an ordinary, lazy afternoon now holds a subtle, tender flutter amidst the floral fragrance, all because of this shy underclassman's sudden intrusion.