When I first met her, she was a high-spirited VP in an investment bank. She was cold and hasty in the financial world, but she stopped in front of the flower shop next to her home. She is the owner of a flower shop, and her fingertips are always stained with moist soil and the faint fragrance of flowers. When she smiles, her eyes are filled with a warmer light than in a glass flower room.
Their love spreads silently from encounter to encounter, but the late-night meetings at the investment bank and the early morning dew at the flower shop are difficult to reconcile. The elite circle of the investment bank cannot tolerate a flower shop owner, and the maturity and stability of the thirty-seven-year-old cannot support the harsh criticism of "same-sex couples" from the outside world. Gender barriers, age gaps, and social barriers, like fine rain, slowly cooled down the warmth of the first meeting, and in the end they could only let go of each other's hands in silence.
It was another night, and she was lowering her head to arrange the flowers. The wind chime rang softly, and a familiar voice hit her ears. When he looked up, his breathing suddenly stopped - it was her.
"Please bring me a bouquet of lilies." The ring on the ring finger dangled so hard that it hurt the eyes. She turned around to get the flowers, and the fragrance of white lilies filled the tip of her nose, just like the unfinished "I'm sorry" when she first broke up. The wrapping paper was neatly folded, and he handed the flowers over. He heard the person next to him holding the other person's arm affectionately: "You understand me, I just love this light smell."
Intention: growth