I don't remember when it became a habit.

Maybe it always was.

Every morning, I'd wake to the faint scent of coffee drifting through the apartment, soft Scottish sunlight spilling across the wooden floor, and a single pink lily waiting on my bedside table.

Every.

Single.

Morning.

But there was something peculiar about it.

Every single lily, every single day had a missing petal.

"Did you do this again?" I called, holding the lily up like an evidence.

A quiet laugh answered from the kitchen.

"What makes you think it was me?"

"Because flowers don't pluck themselves."

"Or maybe nowadays lilies are found like this"

I smiled to his reply

"You know, one day I'm going to figure out why you keep doing this."

For a brief second, the apartment fell silent.

Then he spoke, his voice softer than before.

"I hope you do." - he said with a strange emotion in his eyes that I couldn't comprehend.

I didn't think much of it.

I placed the lily back in its vase and walked towards the kitchen, where he stood with two steaming mugs and that familiar smile waiting just for me.

Looking back now...

I think the missing petal had been trying to tell me a story long before anyone else did.