Chapter 2

The neighborhood was already awake. It as it usually was.

A small, tightly packed district tucked away from the louder parts of the city, where people knew each other by face, if not by name. It wasn’t the kind of place that changed quickly. Shops opened at the same hours. Old men sat in the same chairs outside convenience stores. Children ran through narrow walkways like they belonged to them.

Ajin had been part of it for almost ten years.

Long enough that people stopped seeing her as a stranger. Long enough that she became part of the rhythm.

As she stepped out, a few early risers were already outside. The bakery owner was arranging fresh bread near the window. A woman sweeping her storefront paused and gave a small wave. Someone from the nearby stall called out a greeting without even looking up.

Ajin responded the same way she always did—simple nods, soft smiles, familiar gestures that required no effort anymore.

She moved through the streets like she belonged there. Because she did.

Her shop was only a few blocks away.

A small flower shop, tucked between a stationery store and a quiet café that never seemed to change its menu. The sign above the door was slightly faded, but still readable. Inside, the scent of fresh flowers always lingered—gentle, calming, almost stubborn in how it refused to fade even when the day grew long.

Ajin unlocked the door and stepped inside. The space greeted her like an old friend.

Rows of neatly arranged blooms. Buckets of water catching soft light. Vines and petals carefully tended, each one placed with quiet intention. It wasn’t a large shop, but it was alive in its own way.

She moved behind the counter, setting her bag down, already slipping into the familiar rhythm of work.

Then a soft chime rang from the bell above the shop door.

“Good morning.”

Ajin looked looked up.

The café next door’s owner’s son was standing there, holding a small paper cup with both hands like it was something fragile. He looked slightly awkward, as always, his gaze briefly darting away before returning to her face.

“I… I made extra coffee,” he said. “Thought you might like it.”

Ajin blinked, then gave a small, polite smile. “That’s kind of you.”

He stepped a little closer, placing the cup carefully on the counter like it required special handling.

“It’s not too sweet today,” he added quickly. “I remember you said last time it was a bit—”

“Too sweet, yes,” she finished gently, and chuckled.

His ears turned slightly red. “Right. So I fixed it.”

There was a short pause.

Ajin picked picked up the cup, taking a small sip. The warmth spread through her hands.

“…It’s good.”

His expression brightened immediately, like that was the most important approval he could receive.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “Thank you. Although, you really didn't have to bring me coffee every time.”

"No... I really enjoy doing this."

He hesitated for a second longer, as if wanting to say something else, then scratched the back of his neck.

“I’ll… bring you some again tomorrow.”

Ajin nodded. nodded. “That’s fine.”

He left soon after, far less smoothly than he arrived, nearly bumping into the door on his way out.

The bell chimed again as it closed.

Ajin watched him go for a moment, then lowered her gaze to the coffee.

A faint, almost unnoticeable softness passed through her expression.

Then she set the cup down behind the counter.

Watering. Trimming. Checking arrangements. Preparing deliveries. These are simple repetitive tasks that she has always done. The kind of work that didn’t ask questions.

Outside, the neighborhood slowly filled with more movement. A delivery truck passed. A child ran by laughing. Someone stopped by the shop window to admire the flowers before stepping inside.

Ajin greeted greeted them without thinking.

Her voice had become part of this place too—soft, polite, steady. To most people, she was just the flower shop girl. Kind, reliable, a little quiet, but always gentle.

No one here knew her as anything else. And that was how she preferred it.

By mid-morning, she was already preparing a set of deliveries.

Small bouquets wrapped carefully in paper, each one labeled with names she recognized by memory. The bakery owner’s wife. The café owner’s mother. A regular customer who always ordered white lilies on the same day every week.

She tied the last ribbon and placed the bouquets into her delivery basket. The usual routine and the familiarity.

She stepped out again, the bell above the shop door ringing softly behind her.

The neighborhood greeted her as she walked. Not loudly, nor formally.

“Morning, Ajin. Flowers are prettier than usual today.”

She smiled softly, adjusting the basket in her hands. “Then I’ll take that as today will be a good day.”

Just small acknowledgments that had become part of daily life.

A nod from the fruit vendor. A wave from the café owner. A passing comment about the weather from someone she had known long enough to recognize but not enough to name clearly.

Ajin responded responded to each one in turn.

Her steps never slowed. She knew every turn of the street, every uneven tile on the sidewalk, every shortcut that saved a few seconds between deliveries. She had walked these paths for years without needing to think about them.

It was almost comforting. Almost enough to make the world feel normal.

She paused briefly at a street corner, adjusting the basket in her hands. For a moment, her eyes drifted toward the distant skyline.

The city beyond this small neighborhood was louder, faster, and heavier. A place where things disappeared without explanation. A place where news like this morning’s didn’t stay just news.

Her grip on the basket tightened slightly.

Then she moved again. One delivery at a time. One street at a time. Returning to the rhythm she had built for herself. The life she had chosen. The life she was trying—every single day—not to lose.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***