The Mystery of the Flowers

Selena stormed into the opera house’s administrative office, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, each step echoing her growing frustration. Her chest tightened with a mix of anger and unease, her mind racing over the events of the past few months. This had gone on for far too long. Ever since she joined the troupe, she had been receiving bouquets of flowers after every performance. At first, she had dismissed them as the gestures of an admirer—perhaps a fan who appreciated her voice or her stage presence. But as the weeks turned into months, the consistency of the gifts began to unsettle her. It wasn’t just the flowers; it was the notes. They were too personal, too intimate, as if the sender knew her better than she knew herself.

She had dealt with obsessive fans before. Some had snuck unsettling things into her dressing room: locks of hair, cryptic messages written in red ink, once even a small stuffed bear with its head twisted off. The opera world attracted its fair share of eccentrics, and Selena had learned to be cautious. But this… this was different. The flowers were always the same—white lilies and deep red roses. And the notes attached were never just meaningless praise. They were personal. Encouraging. Almost as if the sender knew her struggles, her frustrations, her deepest desires. That was what unsettled her the most. It felt as though someone was watching her, not just from the audience, but from the shadows of her life.

Today, she had enough.

Slamming her hands on the front desk, she addressed the receptionist with a sharp tone, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the office. "I want to see the security footage."

The receptionist, a young woman with glasses perched on the tip of her nose, blinked in surprise. "Pardon?"

"The flowers. The ones I receive after every show. I want to know who's sending them. Check the cameras." Selena’s voice was firm, but beneath the surface, she could feel a tremor of fear. She hated feeling this way—vulnerable, exposed. She had worked too hard to build her career, to carve out a space for herself in the competitive world of opera. She wouldn’t let some anonymous stalker undermine her sense of safety.

The receptionist hesitated, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Ms. Selena, are you sure? It could just be an anonymous admirer. Many performers receive—"

"I don’t care if it’s an admirer or a lunatic," Selena cut her off, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her nails dug into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. "I have a right to know who is leaving things for me. It could be some obsessive freak again, for all I know."

The receptionist sighed, clearly sensing that arguing would be futile. "Alright, I’ll ask security. But it may take a while to review—"

"Fine." Selena exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples as a headache began to pulse behind her eyes. She didn’t have time to waste waiting around, so she decided to leave. "Just let me know when you find something."

That evening, after her latest performance, Selena exited the back entrance of the opera house, her body heavy with exhaustion. The cold night air wrapped around her, a welcome relief after the stifling heat of the stage lights. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, her mind still dwelling on the mysterious flowers. The bouquet from tonight’s performance sat in her dressing room, untouched. She couldn’t bring herself to look at it, not after the note she had found tucked inside.

As she stepped into the street, a voice called out to her, slicing through the quiet night. "Miss Selena?"

She turned sharply, startled. A man stood before her, dressed in the uniform of a delivery service. He held a large bouquet—white lilies and red roses. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as she stared at the familiar arrangement.

"You’re the one who delivers these?" she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended.

The man blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by her tone. "Uh, yes, ma’am. I was instructed to hand these to you directly today."

Selena narrowed her eyes, her mind racing. "Instructed by whom?"

The delivery man hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "By my boss."

"And your boss is…?" she pressed, her patience wearing thin.

He scratched the back of his head, looking uncomfortable. "I don’t really know, miss. I just do what the company tells me to do."

Selena let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing her forehead as frustration bubbled up inside her. "You don’t know who’s been sending me flowers for months?"

The man shook his head apologetically. "I only get orders through the system. The sender never signs a name, just leaves instructions. This time, they said I should give it to you personally."

She eyed him warily before snatching the bouquet from his hands. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the small envelope tucked between the flowers. A note. She pulled it out and unfolded it, her heart pounding in her chest as she read the words.

‘I'm coming to meet you on your birthday.’

The air suddenly felt too cold, as if the night itself had turned against her. She swallowed hard, reading the words again. "Who is ‘he’?" she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible.

The delivery man shifted uncomfortably, clearly eager to leave. "I… I really don’t know, miss. I’m just the messenger."

Selena looked up at him, her eyes sharp with suspicion. "Where do your orders come from? An online form? A direct phone call?"

The man hesitated, glancing around as if worried he’d get in trouble for revealing too much. "Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but… the orders always come from a private account. No name, no personal info, just a request and payment. It’s been like that for a while."

Selena’s fingers curled around the note tightly, crumpling the edges. This wasn’t normal. Whoever this was, they weren’t just some casual admirer. They knew her birthday. They had been waiting for the right moment to meet her. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Fine. If you hear anything else about this sender, let me know."

The man gave her a nervous nod before hurrying away, leaving Selena alone on the quiet street. She stared down at the flowers, her stomach twisting into knots. This was no longer just an anonymous gift. It was a message. A promise.

And she had no idea who was behind it.

---

Selena walked briskly down the dimly lit street, gripping the bouquet tighter than she realized. The note’s message echoed in her mind—’I'm coming to meet you on your birthday.’ 

The words felt more like a warning than an invitation. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her, waiting for the right moment to reveal themselves.

The street was eerily silent, save for the occasional distant hum of traffic. The chill in the air bit at her skin, and she quickened her pace, her heels clicking against the pavement. Her apartment was only a few blocks away, but the distance felt insurmountable tonight.

Then she felt it.

A presence.

It was subtle at first, just a prickling at the back of her neck, the strange sensation of being watched. She glanced around, her heartbeat picking up speed. The street was mostly empty, save for a few parked cars and darkened shopfronts. But something wasn’t right.

She turned a corner and caught a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. A shadow. Someone was there.

Her breath hitched.

She didn’t wait to confirm it. Her body moved before her mind could process it—she ran.

Her heels were an inconvenience, but she pushed through, sprinting toward her apartment building. The sound of her own footsteps echoed loudly in her ears, drowning out everything else. She didn’t dare look back.

By the time she reached her building’s entrance, her chest was heaving. She fumbled with her keys, hands trembling, before shoving the door open and slamming it shut behind her. Only then did she risk a glance outside.

Nothing.

The street was empty. No lingering figures. No shadows.

But she knew someone had been there.

And they had been watching her.

---

The next morning, Selena arrived at the opera house earlier than usual, still shaken from the night before. She had barely slept, her mind replaying the events over and over again. Who had been following her? Was it the same person who had been sending the flowers? Or was she just being paranoid?

As she entered the rehearsal hall, she noticed an unusual buzz of excitement among the performers and staff. People were murmuring in hushed voices, exchanging glances of anticipation.

One of the stage managers, a woman named Elise, caught sight of her and hurried over. "Selena! You heard the news?"

Selena frowned, her stomach tightening with dread. "What news?"

Elise’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "We just got word—there’s going to be a VIP performance next week. Some of the biggest names in the industry will be attending. It’s a private event, very exclusive. The company wants everything to be perfect."

Selena’s heart skipped a beat. "Who exactly is coming?"

Elise shrugged. "No official list yet, but I heard whispers of high-profile sponsors, directors, even some royalty. And… there’s a rumor that a mysterious benefactor helped arrange it."

Selena’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, her knuckles turning white. "A benefactor?"

Elise nodded. "Yes. Apparently, someone influential pulled strings to make this happen. No one knows who, but they’re clearly someone with power."

A cold shiver ran down Selena’s spine.

A benefactor. An anonymous admirer. A mysterious presence watching her in the night.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. "When is this VIP performance happening?"

Elise beamed. "On your birthday."