Part 17
For weeks, the sunflowers kept coming.
Different days, different places — his dressing room, his car, even once on the doorstep of his penthouse.
Always the same elegant handwriting on the small white card:
You shine too bright to ever fade.
No name.
No sender.
At first, Adrian didn't want to believe it.
But there was only one person who used to write like that.
Mira.
He hadn't heard her name in months, but she lived in the quiet place now — the ghost of someone who once knew every corner of his life.
He remembered the way she said, "You'll miss me when it's too quiet."
Now the quiet was deafening.
His manager noticed his distraction during rehearsal.
"Are you okay? You keep looking over your shoulder."
Adrian forced a smile. "Just tired."
But inside, his mind was spiraling.
Could Mira be back?
Had she been watching all along?
He tried to find her.
He even called the last number she'd used — disconnected.
No trace, no clue, nothing.
Until one night, after a show, he found something that froze him.
On his dressing table sat a sunflower.
Bright, golden, familiar.
And beneath it, a card with a single word:
Remember?
He almost laughed in disbelief.
Because Mira had always sent sunflowers.
That was her thing — "sunflowers for warmth," she used to say, but something feels off
So if the sunflowers weren't from her...
then who were they from?
The realization hit him like a sudden chill.
He looked around the empty dressing room, his reflection staring back from the mirror.
His heartbeat quickened as he whispered,
"Mira… Is that you?"
But deep down, he already knew the answer.
She wouldn't.
Because Mira's love had always been fierce, human — not this cold, watching silence that now followed him everywhere.
He turned off the lights and left quickly, but as the door clicked shut, he didn't notice the small, pale handprint on the mirror — faint, pressed against the glass, just beneath his reflection.