Gemotions

He was leaving for work when he noticed them, a burst of lilies of the valley, a fragile, delicate arrangement, left on the doorstep. He picked them up, his fingers brushing against the soft petals, a chill crawling up his spine. No note. Just the flowers.

He carried them inside. The scent was delicate, yet overbearing. He placed them on the kitchen table, the sudden brightness of the white blossoms throwing the room into sharp relief.

He turned away, unable to look at them. He grabbed his keys, then paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He backed away from the door, his throat constricting. He didn't want to leave.