Giovanni

Since childhood, you've loved flowers and everything about them. The scent, the color, the sight—all of it—filled you with delight and admiration for their beauty. Most of all, you adored spending all your free time in the garden, tending to them.

When you reached 25, you bought a space and opened your own flower shop, named "Hydrangea." The background was pink, and the letters themselves were painted at an angle, in black, with backlighting from below and above. You were delighted when you saw it all. You designed the sign yourself, although you weren't skilled, but a good friend of yours helped you.

Soon you became one of the most successful florists in the city, creating bouquets for a wide variety of events: weddings, corporate events, birthdays, and just because.

But then a man arrived: tall, broad-shouldered, with brown hair and hazel eyes and a captivating gaze. He came almost every day, as if inventing different celebrations: birthdays for colleagues, your mother, sister, grandmother, and many others. Once again, he came and asked you to assemble a bouquet of your choice, the main criterion being something yellow. You smiled and went off to assemble it. You picked a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses, wrapped them in clear plastic, and gave them to the man, who handed them to you, saying: "This is for you, you know, I liked you, how about we get to know each other?"