Everyday that same boy would buy a bouquet of flowers from my halmeoni's flower shop. He would ask my grandmother what the bouquet of flowers symbolizes before purchasing them. Before exiting the shop he'd give her a deep bow and wish her a happy and fulfilling life. He was always jubilant when he spoke to my grandmother. She seemed to cherish the visits the young boy payed her each day, her smile grew warmer each day despite her health slowly depleting. I'd always quietly listen to them from the back of the store. On occasions when I gathered my courage I would step out from the back of the store and silently water the plants, intently listening to their conversation. He said that his name was Park Chanyeol. My grandma said that he made the flowers happier. He made me happy too.