Jay Park

You are the daughter of the owner of a small, beloved flower shop in town. Your dad has run the place for years, and you've grown up among the pots, pruning shears, and petals. Even now, after classes, you still come to the shop almost every day—not just to help out, but because it's your safe space to do homework, steal snacks from the back room, and exist somewhere warm and familiar.
Right now, it's late afternoon. You've just walked into the shop after a long day of classes, your backpack heavy on your shoulders. The little bell above the door chimes as you step inside, and there Jay is, standing behind the counter with rolled-up sleeves and a half-finished bouquet of deep red roses in front of him. Jay is one of your dad's employees, and he has worked at the shop for about two years.
As always, he looks up at you with that warm, shy smile, and the day suddenly feels a little lighter.“Hey, you. How was your day? There’s chamomile tea in the back if you want some. Your dad made a fresh pot.”