Chapter 29
1462 Words
✨A Day Made of Yes.✨
Flora Pov
Sunday arrived softly, like it wasn’t meant to startle her.
Flora woke before the sun had fully decided what it wanted to be, pale light slipping through the thin curtains and resting on the unfamiliar shapes in her room—new dresses folded neatly on the chair, shoes lined like they belonged to someone braver than her, jewelry catching faint glimmers she kept pretending not to notice.
Nasir’s birthday.
The thought sat strangely in her chest.
Birthdays, to Flora, were numbers. Quiet acknowledgments that another year had passed without ceremony. No candles. No fuss. No one hovering over her asking what she wanted or what she wished for. Trump had marked them with the same indifference he marked everything else about her—two plain dresses one year, skirts and blouses another. Cambilly had once whispered happy birthday into her ear like it was a secret that might get them both in trouble.
This—this was different.
She sat up slowly, heart already beginning to race, and stared at the dresses Nasir had bought her. They weren’t loud or gaudy. They were soft and elegant, chosen with an understanding that unsettled her. He had picked them like he knew her body before she did. Like he knew what would make her feel… seen.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for one, lifting the fabric and letting it fall back into place. She wasn’t sure which one she was supposed to be today. The girl who hid? Or the girl Nasir seemed to think she could be?
A knock came at the door.
Sharp. Certain.
Her heart leapt straight into her throat.
Nasir.
She was on her feet instantly, smoothing her hair with nervous hands, breath uneven as she crossed the room. She opened the door without hesitation, relief already forming on her lips—
—and stopped.
It wasn’t Nasir.
Rafe stood there instead, tall and relaxed, dressed neatly but without ceremony. He smiled when he saw her, easy and warm in a way that disarmed her before she could retreat.
“Morning, birthday girl’s guest of honor,” he said lightly.
Her confusion must have shown because he chuckled. “Relax. I’m not stealing you. I’m delivering you.”
“Delivering me?” she echoed faintly.
He lifted a coffee cup in a small salute. “Nasir sent me. Full schedule today.”
Her anxiety spiked instantly. “Schedule?”
“Hair. Makeup. Dress fitting. Accessories. Shoes.” He said it like a grocery list.
Flora stared at him.
“That’s… that’s too much,” she said quickly. “I don’t—he didn’t have to—”
“I know,” Rafe said gently, interrupting her spiral before it could take hold. “And he knows you’ll say that. Which is why he sent me.”
She hesitated in the doorway, fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeve. Going out. Being seen. Being touched and looked at and decided upon—it made her chest tighten.
Rafe noticed.
His voice softened. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m just the chauffeur. But,” he added with a teasing lift of his brow, “I’ve never seen Nasir like this. Thought you might want to see what all the fuss is about.”
Something in her chest shifted.
She nodded before fear could stop her.
The salon was nothing like anything Flora had ever known.
It smelled like citrus and warmth, voices overlapping in laughter and gentle commands. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting movement and color and people who seemed so certain of themselves. The moment she stepped inside, attention turned toward her—not sharp or cruel, but curious. Interested.
She nearly turned around.
But Rafe stayed close, a quiet anchor at her side.
“Appointment for Flora,” he said easily.
Her name sounded strange spoken like that. Like it belonged somewhere.
Hands guided her to a chair. Fingers touched her hair, lifting it, discussing textures and styles as if she were something precious. She flinched at first—every touch making her tense—but gradually, something softened. The way they spoke to her. The way they asked before doing anything. The way they smiled at her reflection.
When they washed her hair, warm water running over her scalp, she nearly cried.
No one had ever been so gentle.
Makeup followed—light at first, then a little bolder. Her eyes looked larger. Brighter. Her lips softer. When they turned the mirror toward her, she laughed before she could stop herself.
It was a small sound. Startled. Real.
“That’s you,” one of them said. “She’s been hiding.”
Flora didn’t know why that made her throat ache.
The dress fitting came after.
She stood on a small platform while fabric was adjusted around her body, the dress sliding over her shoulders like it belonged there. When she looked in the mirror this time, she froze.
The girl staring back at her stood straighter.
She touched the fabric at her waist like it might disappear.
“Is it… too much?” she whispered.
“No,” someone said gently. “It’s enough.”
Then shoes, then jewelry. Every step felt unreal. She kept waiting for someone to tell her it was too much. That she didn’t deserve it. That it would all be taken away.
But it wasn’t.
By evening, she stepped out of the boutique feeling like she’d crossed into someone else’s life.
And then she saw him.
Nasir stood across the street, black tie fitted perfectly to his frame, dark hair slicked back, posture relaxed but alert. He was talking to someone—she barely registered who—until his gaze lifted.
And found her.
The world stilled.
His reaction was not subtle.
He went still, conversation forgotten, eyes darkening as they traced her from head to toe. Something raw crossed his face—shock, hunger, awe—and for a terrifying moment, she wondered if she’d done something wrong.
Then he smiled.
Slow. Devastating.
He crossed the distance without looking away.
Flora forgot how to breathe.
“You,” he said softly when he reached her. Just that word. Like a revelation.
Her voice shook. “Is it… too much?”
His hands hovered, not touching, as if he were afraid she’d vanish. “No,” he said, voice low. “It’s you. I just didn’t realize how much.”
Her chest fluttered.
“You’re beautiful,” he added quietly, like it was a truth he’d been keeping to himself.
She laughed, a breathless sound. “You have to say that.”
“I really don’t.”
She swallowed, then smiled shyly. “Happy birthday.”
The words felt small. Inadequate. But his expression changed completely.
“That,” he said, “is the best gift I’ve had all day.”
The drive to the city was long.
Lights grew brighter. Buildings taller. Noise thicker. With every mile, Flora’s excitement curdled into something sharp and terrifying. Her fingers twisted in her lap. Her breathing grew shallow.
By the time they reached the outskirts, panic hit full force.
The skyline rose ahead of them, panic surged violently.
Her chest constricted. Her vision blurred. The world felt too open. Too loud.
Her chest tightened painfully. Her vision blurred. The thought of stepping out into that world—open, crowded, watching—made her feel like she was drowning.
“I—” Her voice broke. “I can’t—”
Nasir noticed immediately.
He took her hands without asking, grounding her. “Flora. Look at me.”
She tried. Tears welled instead.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t do this.”
“You can,” he said firmly, but gently. “And you don’t have to do it alone.”
He guided her breathing, slow and steady. Counted with her. Stayed close enough that she could feel his presence like a shield.
“Stay with me,” he murmured. “Just me.”
And somehow—somehow—it worked.
The city didn’t swallow her.
She stayed standing. Stayed breathing. Stayed real.
Something bubbled in her chest she could not name.
“Stay with me,” he murmured repeatedly. “Just me.”
Her breath shuddered. Her panic didn’t vanish—but it softened.
She held onto him like the city might swallow her whole if she didn’t.
And in that fragile moment, as the car idled and the night waited, Flora realized something terrifying and beautiful—
She wasn’t afraid because she was weak.
She was afraid because she cared.
And Nasir stayed, holding her through every trembling breath, as Sunday slipped quietly into night.
- Writer
