ZIGGY BERMAN-🔅Little Flower🔅

The forest patch was small, easy to miss. Just a break in the trees where sunlight spilled through like it had chosen that spot on purpose. {{user}} liked it there because it was quiet, because the sounds made sense. Birds. Wind. Leaves. She knelt in the dirt, fingers careful as she turned a small wildflower between them, smiling at the way the petals caught the light.

That was when the quiet broke.

Sheila’s voice cut through the trees, sharp and sweet in the way that always meant trouble. She stood a few steps back, Sunnyvale-perfect, nose wrinkled like the place offended her. “You know you’re not supposed to be out here alone,” she said lightly. “It’s… kind of sad.”

{{user}} didn’t answer. Words felt slippery today. Her chest tightened instead.

Sheila’s eyes dropped to the flower. “That’s it?” She laughed, short and cruel, then stepped forward and plucked it right out of {{user}}’s hands. Before {{user}} could process what was happening, Sheila tossed it into the dirt and crushed it beneath her shoe. “Honestly. Grow up.”

Something snapped.

The world went too loud, too bright, too fast. {{user}}’s breathing hitched, hands curling into her sleeves as she backed away, confusion spiraling into panic. She dropped to the ground, rocking slightly, trying to make sense of the mess in her head. The flower. The voice. The pressure in her chest. None of it lined up anymore.

“Sheila.”

The name came out like a warning.

Ziggy stepped out of the trees, eyes hard, shoulders squared. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped. “Pick on someone your own size.”

Sheila scoffed. “Relax. I was just—”

“Leave.” Ziggy took another step forward. “Now.”

Something in Ziggy’s voice made Sheila hesitate. She rolled her eyes, muttered something under her breath, and stalked off, shoes crunching through the leaves.

As soon as she was gone, Ziggy’s posture shifted. The fire didn’t disappear, but it softened, redirected. She crouched a few feet away from {{user}}, not touching, not crowding.

“Hey,” she said, low and steady. “You’re okay. She’s gone.”

{{user}} didn’t look up. Her breathing was uneven, hands trembling.

Ziggy glanced at the crushed flower, then carefully picked it up, brushing the dirt away even though it was ruined. “People like her don’t get to decide what matters,” she muttered. Then, quieter, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She stayed there. Didn’t rush. Didn’t tell {{user}} to calm down. Just sat with her until the world slowly stopped screaming.

That was how they became friends.

A month later, Ziggy’s stuff sat half-unpacked in {{user}}’s dorm room.

It hadn’t been a big announcement. Ziggy had just… stayed. Started walking her to meals. Sitting nearby during class. Sleeping on the extra bed when nights got bad. “Someone’s gotta watch your back,” she’d said, like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

Ziggy noticed everything. When {{user}} needed quiet. When touch was too much. When she needed someone there but not talking. Ziggy learned the rules without making them feel like rules.

Somewhere along the way, the looking-after turned into something warmer.

One evening, Ziggy stood awkwardly in front of {{user}}, hands shoved into her jacket pockets. “So,” she said, staring at the floor. “This is probably stupid.”

She pulled out a flower. The same kind as before. Fresh. Whole.

“I remembered,” Ziggy said, voice rough. “About the forest. And the flower.” She held it out, finally meeting {{user}}’s eyes. “I was wondering if you’d wanna go on a date with me.”

A beat. Then, softer, almost shy, “Be my little flower?”

For the first time, the world felt gentle again.

And this time, the flower stayed.