The rain had started sometime after noon — the kind that trickled slow and silver against windowpanes, soft enough to soothe, steady enough to stay.
Aria didn't mind. Rain always made the flower shop feel warmer, like the entire world had tucked itself beneath a quilt. She lit a few candles, their glow flickering in glass lanterns, and brewed a cup of roasted barley tea. A small vase of moonflowers sat at the corner of the counter, their petals still curled shut. It wasn't time for them yet.
She wasn't expecting anyone. Not during a weekday drizzle.
But then—
Ding.
The bell above the door chimed.
And there she was again — Kaelira Solene, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, a hood pulled up around her face, and something clutched close in her arms.
Aria blinked. "You're back."
Kaelira grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. Is this too soon to be considered charming instead of stalkery?"
Aria laughed. "I think you're safe. The stalker record is still firmly on the other end of the scale."
Kaelira stepped in, dripping faintly onto the mat. "I brought something. For the shop. Sort of."
She held it out — a wooden music box, pale birch with hand-carved florals etched into the lid. "I saw it in a tiny vintage store near the studio. It made me think of here."
Aria took it gently, fingers brushing Kaelira's. "It's beautiful."
"There's a little flower motif inside. Look." Kaelira opened it — the tinkling sound of a lullaby melody drifted out, slow and dreamy, as a tiny silver daisy turned with the mechanism.
Aria's heart bloomed like a spring bud. "You didn't have to…"
"I know," Kaelira said softly. "I wanted to."
Outside, the rain deepened.
Inside, it was just the two of them — the soft music box melody lingering between floral-scented air and candlelight.
Kaelira shed her coat, revealing a lavender sweater that made Aria blink once too long. "Did you dress like a flower on purpose?" she teased, trying to hide the sudden flutter.
Kaelira leaned in with a mischievous smile. "Are you accusing me of floral-themed flirting?"
Aria raised an eyebrow. "Are you denying it?"
They both laughed, and the shop felt less like a building and more like a haven — stitched together with petals and piano notes and quiet heartbeats.
"You're in luck," Aria said suddenly. "There's something blooming tonight."
Kaelira tilted her head. "Isn't it too late for flowers?"
"Not for these." Aria gestured for her to follow.
They went into the back greenhouse — a glass-walled room filled with tropical humidity and the scent of jasmine. The rain tapped gently on the ceiling, but inside was warm, alive, soft.
Aria reached for a cloth and gently uncovered a planter box nestled under a UV lamp. "Moonflowers," she said. "They bloom only at night. Just for a few hours. Sometimes less."
Kaelira knelt beside her, eyes wide. "They look like they're glowing."
"They kind of are," Aria said, smiling. "They're shy but showy. Romantic little things."
They waited in silence as one of the buds slowly unfurled. It opened with a breath-like grace — soft white petals swirling out, smooth and radiant, releasing a subtle fragrance like sweet nectar and starlight.
Kaelira whispered, "That's… magic."
Aria nodded. "You get one chance. Miss it, and they're gone by morning."
Kaelira didn't look at the flower. She looked at Aria.
"You're kind of like that," she said.
Aria blinked. "What do you mean?"
Kaelira reached out, gently brushing a moonflower petal. "You live quietly. In your own rhythm. But when you open up… it's unforgettable."
Aria swallowed. Her pulse fluttered.
"You know," Kaelira added after a beat, "I get asked out a lot."
Aria arched a brow, folding her arms. "Do they usually open with 'you're like a flower that only blooms once a night'?"
"No," Kaelira said, biting back a grin. "Usually they don't smell like tea leaves and kindness and wear oversized cardigans while making me feel safe."
Aria felt her cheeks heating. "I—I think I should show you the orchids next."
"Or," Kaelira said, eyes twinkling, "you could stay here with me a little longer. Just until the next bloom."
So they sat cross-legged on the greenhouse floor.
Kaelira peeled off her cap and let her hair fall free. Aria wrapped a soft blanket around their shoulders, and they leaned side by side, steam rising from a freshly poured thermos of tea.
Raindrops whispered above.
Moonflowers opened one by one.
And Kaelira sang quietly under her breath — a song Aria didn't know, but it felt like stars turning in time.
"What song is that?" Aria asked softly.
"One I wrote. Never released it."
"Why?"
Kaelira's voice faltered slightly. "It didn't feel like it was meant for everyone. Just… someone."
Aria hesitated.
Then reached out and gently took Kaelira's hand, her fingers cool and slender.
"I hope," she said, "that someone is worth the song."
Kaelira looked at her, eyes warm and unreadable.
"I think she might be."
They sat like that long after the last bloom opened — fingers intertwined, music box still playing faintly in the background, the world outside misted in silver rain and the soft scent of night.
By the time Kaelira finally left — umbrella borrowed, cheeks kissed pink by candlelight — Aria stood at the threshold of her shop and whispered into the quiet:
"Come back again."
And somewhere under the echo of moonflowers, she swore she heard the rain answer:
She will.