Once in a blue moon

Swara's tun tun

USA
Apartment Elm street,
House no.- 101.

For days, Swara had been meticulously organizing her belongings, folding clothes, and scrubbing every nook of her apartment. But fate had other plans.

As she stood there, a vase decided to introduce itself to her head. The impact was swift, and she couldn't help but let out a startled yelp.

"Well, hello there, Vase," she said, rubbing her forehead. "I must say, you've got quite the sense of timing. I mean, I've been cleaning, decluttering, and now this? You're like the unexpected guest who shows up at the most inconvenient moment."

The vase, of course, remained silent. It was a rather uncooperative conversationalist.

"You know," she continued, addressing the inanimate object, "I've had better interactions with furniture. Like that time I accidentally sat on the cat—oh, don't worry, Mr. Whiskers forgave me eventually. But you, Vase, you're a whole new level of surprise."

She picked up the vase, examining its delicate patterns. "What's your story, huh? Were you secretly plotting this ambush? Did you overhear my conversations with mom about life, love, and laundry?"

The vase remained stoic, as vases often do.

"Fine," she huffed. "I'll put you back on the shelf, but mark my words, Vase: this isn't over. Next time, I'll be ready. Maybe I'll wear a helmet while dusting. Or perhaps I'll start a support group for people who've been attacked by home decor."

And with that, she placed the vase back where it belonged, giving it a stern look. "Stay put," she warned. "No more sneak attacks."

As she resumed her cleaning, she couldn't help but chuckle.

A door bell chimed and Swara swung to opened the door giving a playful glare to that naughty vase.
................

Swara stood there, her heart doing a jitterbug. A bouquet? For her? She glanced at the delivery boy, who seemed to be enjoying the suspense as much as she was. The note attached to the flowers read, "From your well-wisher." Well, that was vague. Swara's mind raced through the possibilities.

Mom?  No! Why would she send me flowers. Dad? No! He doesn't do these surprising and all.. may..be...Ishaan's MoM? She was the only one who knew she was here in the USA for her postgraduate studies except her parents. But flowers? That didn't seem like her style. Besides, she was more likely to send her a research paper than a bouquet.

Her sons, Ishaan and Rehaan? Swara's mind raced. Rehaan was out of the question. They hadn't been on good terms since he saw her and Ishaan doing confession rehearse for Naina to make her jealous for confessing if Naina wants to marry Ishaan or not..As for Ishaan... well..She'd had a major crush on him, Ishaan now knows it, all thanks to Rehaan. Sending flowers would be awkward for both of them.

Just then, the delivery boy cleared his throat, holding out a clipboard. "Ma'am, I need your signature. Sorry for the delay," he said, glancing at his watch.

The suspense thickened, and Swara hesitated. Who could this mysterious well-wisher be? And why flowers? She scribbled her name on the form, her mind still racing with unanswered questions.
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