The early morning light filtered softly through the rooftop's glass panes, casting a gentle glow over the scattered petals and worn pages of the flower guide. Liora and Mara sat side by side, cups of tea warming their hands but neither eager to break the fragile quiet between them.
Liora's mind drifted to the past—shadows and memories she usually kept locked away. Yet here, with Mara's steady presence beside her, those memories felt less like chains and more like pieces of a puzzle slowly coming together.
"Tell me about your past," Mara said quietly, breaking the silence without pressure.
Liora hesitated, fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "It's not easy to share. I've learned to protect myself by staying silent, by keeping my pain hidden."
Mara nodded, her eyes soft with understanding. "Silence can be a refuge, but it can also be a prison."
Liora's gaze fell to the small bouquet between them—forget-me-nots, lilies, lavender. Each flower a symbol, a story. "I've lost people I loved," she whispered, "and sometimes I think the hardest part is not the loss itself, but the things I never got to say."
Mara reached out, her hand warm as it covered Liora's. "Maybe it's not too late to say them now."
For a moment, the rooftop was suspended in stillness—the air thick with unspoken grief and tentative hope. Liora's heart ached, but the weight felt lighter with Mara's hand holding hers.
"I want to believe that," Liora said softly. "That even after goodbyes, there's still a chance for new hellos."
Mara smiled gently. "There is. And sometimes, the hardest goodbyes make space for the most unexpected beginnings."
As the sun rose higher, bathing the rooftop in golden light, Liora felt a flicker of something she hadn't dared to feel in a long time—hope.
With Mara by her side, maybe she could finally learn the language of goodbye—and
the language of love.