The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 166

Whenever she hit a complicated technical term, Sophia would immediately step in, smoothly translating and explaining it in vivid Norwegian.

The atmosphere in the back room was light and joyous.

The students were incredibly focused.

The two elderly women bickered like children over whose rose looked better while trimming their stems.

The young office worker, clearly handling flowers for the first time, was adorably clumsy. He either cut the stems too short or accidentally pricked his finger on a thorn, drawing good-natured laughter from the group.

And Marta, an exceptionally strict language teacher, completely transformed into a "failing student" in the world of floristry.

She arranged romantic baby's breath to look like a chaotic pile of weeds, and her elegant tulips were placed so haphazardly they lost all their grace.

Yet she wasn't the least bit discouraged. Instead, she laughed like a child with a brand-new toy, having the time of her life.

Annelise walked among her students, patiently correcting their mistakes, guiding their hands to adjust the angles and positioning of the stems.

To her surprise, she found herself deeply enjoying the process.

She watched as her students went from being clumsy and confused to finishing their own unique—if slightly imperfect—creations, their faces lighting up with surprise and satisfaction.

A massive wave of accomplishment washed over her, completely different from the feeling of selling a hundred bouquets.

It was the joy of sharing.

It was the joy of passing beauty on to others.

The two-hour class ended before anyone realized it.

The students left, immensely satisfied, clutching their handmade arrangements.

Before departing, the shy young man walked up to Annelise and gave her a sincere thank you.

"My girlfriend is going to absolutely love this," he said, staring at his slightly lopsided but heartfelt creation, a bright, undeniable smile on his face.

Marta was the last to leave.

She hugged her piece—which the group had teased as being "abstract"—to her chest like it was a precious treasure.

Before walking out the door, she looked at Annelise. Her blue eyes, as clear as the Oslo sea, were filled with genuine praise.

"Anne," Marta said earnestly. "Do you know something?"

"When you were teaching us how to arrange those flowers, you were glowing."

The words hit Annelise square in the chest without warning.

Glowing?

She froze where she stood.

It had been a lifetime since anyone had used a word like that to describe her.

It ranged from the "Introductory Workshop" for complete beginners, to the "Advanced Aesthetics Course" for those wanting systemic learning.

And finally, the "Commercial Floristry Practicum" for students aiming to become professional florists.

What each course would teach, how many hours it would take, what flowers would be used, and the expected outcomes.

Her vision had never been clearer.

The strokes of her pen were firmer and more fluid than ever before.

On the wall, the clock's hour hand quietly slipped past 2:00 AM.

Outside, the entire city was fast asleep.

But Annelise wasn't the least bit tired; in fact, she grew more and more exhilarated.

She didn't know how far this path would take her.

She didn't know if this grand plan would ever fully come to fruition.

But she knew one thing had irrevocably changed.

She was no longer that pitiful woman quietly planting daisies in the Lehman family's backyard, passively waiting for the scraps of her husband's attention.

She was using her own two hands to build a small kingdom entirely her own, brick by brick.