Page 55 of Phantom Flower

Or how he once tried to learn how to play the piano when he was nine because he thought it would impress his mother, but he was so bad at it that the teacher quit after three lessons. He told me he still kept the piano in his apartment even though he never touched it, just because getting rid of it would feel like admitting defeat.

It was weirdly cute.

And ever since he found out I picked flowers when I needed to calm down, he started sending me a photo of a flower every day. Sometimes it was one he found outside wherever he was. Sometimes it was from a shop or even a random park he passed. He always captioned it with something simple like “Today’s flower” or “Saw this and thought of you” and then asked me to tell him what it meant.

I did not know why it affected me so much, but it did.

This morning he sent a picture of a cluster of tiny blue flowers growing between cracks in some concrete somewhere. The message just said: What do they mean?

I stared at the photo for a long time before replying.

Little Fairy: They’re called forget-me-nots. People used to give them so the other person wouldn’t forget them.

Yesterday he sent a picture of a bright orange marigold. I told him they were often used in celebrations and funerals in different cultures. He said that made sense to him. Then he asked if I had ever seen fields of them. I said no, but I had read they grew wild in some parts of Mexico and India and turned entire landscapes gold.

Dimitri: One day I’ll show you a field like that.

I did not know what to say to that, so I just sent back a simple Okay.

But I kept thinking about it for hours.

That night I was lying on my bed with the lights off, phone in my hands, waiting. I had already explained three different flowers to him that day, a red carnation, a yellow tulip, and a purple hyacinth.

When I told him hyacinths could mean sorrow or forgiveness depending on the color, he said he would remember that.

I did not know what we were doing. I did not know what this was turning into. A week ago I would have sworn I hated him. Part of me still did, or at least I was scared of him. But another part of me kept checking my phone like some lovesick idiot, waiting for his name to light up the screen.

He made the nights quieter. He made the memories of my dad hurt a little less. And when he sent those flower pictures every single day and actually listened when I talked about them, it felt like he saw something in me that most people did not.

I still did not know if that was a good thing or a dangerous one.

Today was Friday, and Marco’s friend had thrown the party he had been talking about all week. I was not in the mood to go at all. Originally I had only said yes because it gave me a solid excuse to stay out of the house for a few hours.

The thought of sitting through another awkward dinner with my mother and Daniel while they pretended everything was fine had been unbearable. But now, after a full week of Dimitri’s texts filling up my phone every single day, I would have rather stayed home.

I would have rather been in my room, waiting for whatever random question or flower picture he decided to send next.

Marco suddenly appeared in front of me, dark curls bouncing as he moved to the beat. He was so small compared to most of the guys here, barely reaching my shoulder even when he stood on his toes a little. He was wearing a soft cream sweater with little black ribbons tied loosely in his hair, two of them, one on each side, keeping some of the curls out of his face.

He handed me a red plastic cup filled with something that smelled sweet and strong.

“Here,” he said.

I took the cup and sipped slowly. It tasted like some kind of fruity vodka mix. Not bad, but I was not really in the mood to get drunk. I just wanted to be home.

Marco tilted his head, studying me. “You okay? You’ve been quiet since we got here. If you hate it we can leave. I won’t be mad.”

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a small smile. “Just tired. Long week.”

He nodded. “I get it. You’ve seemed different lately. Does it have to do with Dimitri?”

Before I could answer, a girl appeared between us. She looked around our age, maybe a little older, with long dark hair and a confident smile. She was clearly a little tipsy already, but not sloppy. She turned straight to Marco, completely ignoring me for a second.

“Hey,” she said, leaning in so he could hear her over the music. “I’ve seen you around campus a couple of times. You’re the one who’s always in the library, right?”

Marco’s cheeks went bright pink so fast it was almost funny. He glanced at me quickly, like he needed to make sure he was not imagining this. No girl had ever walked up to him like this before.

He was so used to being overlooked that the attention clearly threw him off, especially because everyone thought he was gay.