The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 167

Having spent so much mental energy on the curriculum planning, Annelise woke up the next day with a heavy head.

Rubbing her temples, she walked over to the window, habitually checking on the three terracotta pots she had placed on the sill.

Instantly, she was wide awake.

The seeds that had slept in the soil for over a month had collectively awakened overnight.

Nestled among the vibrant green leaves were tiny, pure white buds, still dotted with morning dew.

A few of the more impatient ones had already fully unfurled in the delayed warmth of the Scandinavian sun.

The pristine white petals framed soft, fuzzy yellow centers. They were quiet, humble, yet exuded a fierce, undeniable vitality.

In the middle of May in Oslo, her daisies had finally bloomed.

Annelise crouched by the windowsill, watching those tiny white flowers gently swaying in the morning breeze. Her heart swelled with an indescribable, tender emotion.

She took out her phone and snapped a picture of the most vibrantly blooming pot.

Opening that familiar chat window, she sent the photo to Harriet all the way back in Cresthaven.

Harriet replied almost instantaneously.

First came a flurry of crying emojis and flower graphics.

Then, a short line of text.

That sentence was like a soft key, instantly unlocking the floodgates of Annelise's memories.

"If your mother could see this, she would be so happy."

Annelise's eyes immediately reddened.

She could almost see it—years ago, on that sun-drenched balcony of the Sargent home in Cresthaven, her young mother holding her hand, pointing to a similarly radiant pot of daisies, speaking to her with gentle affection.

"Look, Anne, they're blooming. These are my absolute favorites."

That afternoon, Annelise carefully carried the best-looking pot of daisies from her apartment to the shop, placing it right on the checkout counter where everyone could see it.

It was small and unassuming, surrounded by a room full of expensive roses and tulips flown in from Holland, yet it didn't look out of place for a second.

He walked past the storefront, his gaze casually sweeping inside before his footsteps suddenly halted.

His eyes locked perfectly onto the small pot of daisies on the counter.

"They bloomed?" he asked, his voice carrying a subtle, barely perceptible softness.

Annelise looked up and offered a soft "Mhm."

Yves pushed the glass door open a bit wider and walked inside.

He stepped up to the counter, leaned over, and carefully inspected the daisies bathing in the warm sunset glow.

After a long while, he stood up, turned to Annelise, and said something that caught her slightly off guard.

"My grandmother used to love planting daisies too. She was a very traditional and stubborn old woman." Yves's face broke into a warm smile, the kind reserved specifically for fond memories.

"She always said daisies are the most 'stubborn' flowers in the world."

"The more you ignore them, toss them in a corner, and forget to water them, the harder they fight to bloom just to show you they can."