On the bakery’s third anniversary, amid laughter and sweets, Rohan handed her a small box. Inside was a garland of dried marigolds and a note.
“Let’s begin again—not as employer and worker, but as two people who understand each other.”
Tears filled her eyes. “You still think I want something from you?”
He shook his head. “Now I only want you to want me.”
That evening, lamps glowed as the sun set behind the mountains. They sat together in silence.
“Never thought someone would understand my flowers,” she whispered.
“I never thought someone would fill my silence,” he replied.
That night, Rohan slept peacefully.
Because for the first time, he wasn’t alone.
