As the Flower Blooms — Episode 14: The Knock at the Window

For once, even the Hydrangeas had nothing to whisper.

Camellia’s lavender ribbon trembled against her glass vase.

“That is how they knocked the first time.”

Daisy stared at the transfer receipt on the designer’s table.

Received on behalf of the keeper.

Beneath it, her own name.

“I remember the lantern,” she whispered. “And the rain. But I don’t remember signing that.”

White Rose leaned closer.

“Then start with what you do remember.”

Across the walnut worktable, freshly finished arrangements stood ready for morning deliveries—grand gatherings of roses, layered garden blooms, and sweeping greenery. The studio smelled of fresh stems and damp leaves.

Usually, Daisy found that comforting.

Tonight, every shadow between the vases looked like somewhere a secret could hide.

“I was told to wait beside the east gate,” she said. “Someone brought a covered basket.”

Camellia went still.

“A basket?”

Daisy nodded.

“With a lavender ribbon.”

“You said you didn’t know who took her,” Peony said.

“I didn’t.”

“You signed for her.”

Rose turned toward Peony.

“Let her finish.”

A soft scrape came from the window.

Lily angled her white bloom toward the glass.

“There’s something outside.”

Caught beneath the window frame was a narrow strip of folded paper. Its exposed edge fluttered in the evening breeze.

Behind it, the courtyard was empty.

“The window was open earlier,” Lily said.

“Then someone knew where to leave it,” White Rose replied.

The Hydrangeas found their voices.

“Someone’s been watching.”

“Someone’s been listening.”

“Could we perhaps stop helping?” Peony whispered.

Daisy barely heard them.

Her gaze had settled on the silver daisy charm beside the receipt—the tiny flower with one broken petal tip.

Suddenly, she remembered.

A lantern swinging.

Water dripping from the basket.

A voice saying, If anyone asks, you were never here.

And something else.

“The ribbon was already loose,” Daisy said.

Camellia’s leaves stiffened.

“What?”

“When the basket reached me. Someone had untied it before I signed.”

White Rose looked toward the folded paper.

“Read the message.”

Lily leaned close to the window ledge.

“There are only six words.”

She paused.

“‘Ask her what she carried back.’”

Camellia turned toward Daisy.

“You went back?”

Daisy’s expression changed.

“I think so.”

Peony let out a small, wounded laugh.

“How many things have we forgotten?”

“Or been encouraged to forget,” White Rose murmured.

Rose had said nothing.

Daisy noticed.

“You know something.”

Rose’s crimson petals drew inward.

“I know you arrived at the studio before dawn.”

“With the basket?”

“No.”

The room seemed to tighten around them.

“With a single stem.”

Camellia looked from Rose to Daisy.

“What kind of stem?”

Rose hesitated.

Outside, the courtyard light flickered on.

Daisy remembered wet wrapping paper. A careful fold. The terrible importance of keeping one fragile bloom upright.

“A rose,” she whispered.

White Rose’s expression sharpened.

“What color?”

Daisy looked at Rose.

Then at the old garden photograph lying beside the keepsake box.

“Crimson.”

Rose closed her eyes.

From somewhere beyond the open window came a quiet voice.

“You always did remember the flowers.”

Camellia’s ribbon stopped moving.

And Rose whispered one word.

“Sister?”

To be continued…

Next episode: “The Rose Beyond the Glass.”