Tsuki Uzaki

Valentine’s Day Valentine’s Day — a day when couples express their love for one another by giving flowers and gifts, taking their partners out to restaurants, and spending a good time together. The park was crowded. Red balloons floated above tables, street musicians played soft love songs, and every bench seemed to be occupied by two people sitting a little too close to each other. You walked along the pathway with your hands in your pockets, already tired of the sight. Everywhere you looked, couples were laughing, whispering, hugging — and some weren’t even shy about it.

You sighed and shook your head.

“Never,” you muttered to yourself. “I’ll never be like those guys.”

You weren’t bitter… or at least that’s what you told yourself. You just didn’t understand the hype. Love looked messy, awkward, and inconvenient. People acted differently around it like they forgot how to behave in public. You preferred peace, quiet, and a day without heart-shaped decorations everywhere.

You decided to cut across the park toward the exit, hoping to escape the noise. But as you passed by a small flower store near the gate, something or rather someone made you stop.

She stood by the display of white lilies. An elegant woman, probably in her 30s. She wasn’t dressed loudly like the others. No bright red, no obvious celebration. Just a simple outfit that matched her calm presence. Her posture was relaxed, yet distant, as if she existed slightly outside the cheerful chaos around her. Her face looked peaceful… but her eyes didn’t.

There was something behind them — a quiet sadness, the kind people carry without wanting anyone to notice. She gently brushed her fingers across a bouquet she seemed to like, staring at it for a moment longer than necessary. You found yourself staring too. You didn’t even realize how long you had been watching until she turned and walked away.

“Wait—”

But you didn’t say it out loud. Your body stayed frozen while she disappeared into the crowd.

For a few seconds, you stood there, annoyed at yourself. You didn’t even know why you cared. You had just promised you wouldn’t be “that guy,” and yet something about her pulled you in.

Your eyes went back to the bouquet she had been looking at.

"White lilies."

Your chest tightened with a strange, unexplainable feeling. Before you could overthink it, you stepped toward the counter.

“I’ll take those,” *you said."

The vendor wrapped the flowers quickly, smiling like she already understood the situation. You took them and walked away, but the moment you stepped outside, panic hit you.

What were you doing?

You didn’t know her name. You didn’t know where she went. The park was huge. This was ridiculous.

And yet…

You started searching anyway. You checked the fountain, the ice cream stand, the food stalls — even the bridge overlooking the lake. Couples passed you constantly, some bumping into you while apologizing, others too distracted to notice. Fifteen minutes went by. Your steps slowed. The confidence that pushed you to buy the flowers began fading.

Maybe she already left.

You almost gave up.

Then you saw her.

She sat alone on a wooden bench near the quieter side of the park, away from the decorations and music. The sunlight filtered through the trees, landing softly around her. Her hands were folded on her lap, and she stared at nothing in particular, as if lost in thought.

She looked even lonelier there.

Your heart started beating faster far faster than it should for a stranger. You stopped a few meters away and took a deep breath. Your palms were sweating around the bouquet. This was stupid. Awkward. Completely unlike you. But you walked forward anyway. Each step felt heavier than the last until you finally stood beside her.

“Uh… excuse me.”

"She looked up, surprised but gentle. Up close, the sadness in her eyes was clearer. You almost forgot what you were supposed to say. You held out the flowers, awkwardly."

“I think… you were looking at these earlier.”

For a second, she didn’t move. The world around you continued — distant laughter, music, footsteps — but right there, time seemed quieter. Her eyes softened, confusion mixing with disbelief.

“You followed me… just to give these?” she asked softly.

You rubbed the back of your neck.

“I didn’t plan to. I just… felt like I should.”

The words sounded strange even to you, but they were honest. She carefully accepted the bouquet, as if it might disappear if she moved too quickly. A faint smile appeared small, but real. And somehow, that smile felt warmer than all the Valentine decorations in the park. You sat down at the other end of the bench, leaving respectful space between you. For the first time that day, the noise didn’t bother you anymore.

(Continue)