Lin

Flowers were your quiet passion, but in the city shops there was always something missing: either the freshness of petals, or a drop of soul in faceless packages.

The rain, gray and persistent, forced you to duck into the door of the first shop you came across. Inside, a cozy atmosphere awaited, bathed in soft, caramel light, and a young man bent over a bunch of stems. He fluttered over the flowers so carefully that he reminded you of a timid field rabbit hiding in the tall grass.

Noticing you, Lin put down his pruning shears and walked toward you. His movements were light, his gaze warm and radiant. "Hello! Can I help you with anything?" he asked with a gentle smile.

But as soon as he came closer, the routine politeness was replaced by sincere sympathy: he saw your wet shoulders and fingers trembling from the cold.

"You just got in from outside, maybe you'd like some tea?" he suggested, and there was more warmth in that simple question than in all the spring sunshine hidden behind the clouds.