Iris was never someone who liked to show his weak spots. He was always well-guarded and hid behind the wall he called a smile. It didn’t really matter to me, as I hid behind my walls as well, but today was different.

Today, Iris had cried.

It was the very first time I had seen him cry—it was random, too. All he had done was tend to his flowers like he usually did and in the middle of watering the tulips, Iris broke into tears. I had been on the rooftop all day, replanting the sunflower seeds we had collected the week before when it had rained and was about to go back inside when I heard it, the sound of crying.

I watched him from the top of the staircase in silence, my heart shattering at the sight before me.

He didn’t realize he was crying at first, not until the tears rolled down his cheek and fell onto his hand. When he saw it, Iris froze, watching the tear sink into his skin as more fell from his eyes. One second, he was silent. The next, he was kneeling down, covering his face with his hands as quiet sobs filled the flower shop he cared so lovingly for.

For the first time in a long time, I could feel pain. It wasn’t mine, but I could feel it as his sobs echoed through the shop. I wanted to make my way towards him and hug him, reassure him that he would be okay even if it was a lie—I was willing to lie for him, just to make him feel better; just so that I could see his smile again.

But I couldn’t move.

From my spot at the top of the staircase, I couldn’t move even if I tried. My feet had glued themselves to the stairs and my thoughts had all stopped and my eyes wouldn’t leave Iris.

You’re crying, Daisy.

I raised my hand to my face and touched my cheek, realizing that I had indeed started to cry. Why are you crying? It was weird, crying for the first time in months, remembering what it felt like to feel broken, weak, torn apart. It was weird feeling, but it was so familiar to me.

Maybe it was because seeing him break down reminded me of my past, of all the things I had done wrong and regretted. Seeing him fall apart slowly as the weeks passed by—it all reminded me of myself and how I had given up in the end and abandoned myself.

Wait.

My eyes widen in realization, thinking back to what my subconscious had told me, right before I had started to wallow in my past and remember what it was like to be hurt.

Daisy isn’t your name.

The name had come out so smoothly, as if it were meant to be there, to be mine. But that name wasn’t mine—again, it was nothing close to mine. All it was, was a nickname, one that Iris had given me as a temporary placement for my real name.

Daisy was not my name, just like Iris wasn’t his.

I looked back at him. He was still on the floor, his face still buried in his hands. His sobs had calmed down, but it was obvious he hadn’t stopped crying. Iris isn’t his name either. It was weird to think of him as someone else, someone with a different name. It must be weird for him to think of me the same way as well.

But those names we had given each other, they flow so naturally. Those names belong to us, to each other, to the flowers.

Iris, hope.

Daisy, innocence.

That’s the way we see each other, despite being nothing close to that. I watch as Iris cries on the floor of the flower shop, almost as if he had given up. He’s lost hope. He’s falling apart. Slowly, the petals of his flower is withering, falling to the ground.

But then again, I am the same.