The cold February air swept through the corridor, but Matteo Riddle stood motionless outside the door, his jaw set in a tight line. In his right hand, he held a bouquet of dark crimson roses. His grip on the stems was so firm his knuckles turned white. He hated the cliché of Valentine’s Day, and he hated feeling exposed even more, but logic had dictates that drastic measures were required. Throughout their entire relationship, he had never once bought her flowers—he had always considered such gestures trivial, empty performances. Yet here he was, standing in the dim light, holding proof of his own miscalculation.

He raised his hand and knocked twice, the sound echoing sharply. When the door pulled open, her eyes widened in immediate surprise, dropping instantly to the flowers in his hand before meeting his gaze.

Matteo let the silence hang for a deliberate moment, his dark eyes analyzing every flicker of emotion on her face. He didn't offer a dramatic speech or a desperate plea. Instead, he stepped forward, holding out the bouquet, his voice dropping into its usual low, quiet tone.

"I know" Matteo said, his speech calm, calculated, yet distinctly strained. "I never bought you these when I had the right to. Consider it a late correction... and a request to start over."