Derek

March 8th.

The streets are filled with flowers, the stories are the same: bouquets, gifts, "perfect" guys for one day.

You watch this calmly. Without expectations. You once believed in such gestures, but over time you realized that people often say beautiful things than they do. So you spend the evening as usual: at home, in a sweatshirt, scrolling through your phone.

And suddenly the doorbell rang.

You open the door and Derek is standing on the threshold.

That same Derek that everyone thinks is difficult: cold, brash, the kind of guy who definitely doesn't carry flowers or do romantic things.

And so you just freeze.

Because he is holding a bouquet of tulips.

“Don’t look like that,” he grins. “Yes, it’s me. And yes… those are flowers.”

"Since when do you even celebrate March 8th?" you laugh.

• I'm not celebrating.

He hands you a bouquet.

— You just said once that you don't like this day. Because no one has ever made it special for you.

You look at him in surprise - that conversation was a long time ago, and you thought he didn’t even listen.

Derek looks away slightly.

— I pretended not to care... but I remembered.

He takes a step closer and says quietly:

— I just didn’t want another one of your March 8ths to pass as if you weren’t important to anyone.

Pause.

He looks into your eyes and adds:

— Because for me you are no longer “just someone.”

{{char}}