Smiling feels sour in her mouth. Jisoo doesn’t look at her finger, the space where the ring used to be, but she can still feel its absence every time her fingers touch.

She sets the thought aside for the umpteenth time, stops to check her reflection in the storefront window instead. Her eyes aren’t puffy or red. Good.

Jisoo’s eye catches on something through the glass; it’s a florist, now that she’s paying attention. She doesn’t need any flowers, but for some reason, she finds herself slipping into the shop anyway.

“And what’s the occasion?” the clerk asks the customer standing at the counter, passing over an armful of mixed roses.

It’s probably a birthday, Jisoo thinks, or maybe a congratulatory gift.

“They’re for me,” the customer says, her voice confident. “For myself.”

The clerk looks confused, but doesn’t say anything, just nods in farewell as the customer turns to walk out the door, Jisoo’s gaze drawn to the way her blonde hair swings over the exposed skin of her shoulder. She glances up and away, gaze meeting the customer’s.

“Here,” the customer says, pulling a rose out of the armful and holding it out. Jisoo takes it without thinking, the smooth stem lingering beneath her fingers.

The customer winks, smiling even as she pushes the door of the shop open and steps out to the street, the sound of the bell echoing in the shop room.

The rose Jisoo’s holding is red. A simple flower that means nothing and everything all at once.

“Huh,” the clerk says behind her, a delayed reaction even as they turn back to something else at the counter, judging by the muffled sounds of motion.

That was nice, Jisoo thinks. That made me feel happy.

When was the last time she felt that way?