He was already ten minutes late to his own wedding when the traffic came to a dead stop. Horns blared. Sweat dripped. And on the side of the road, a barefoot girl held out a bundle of wildflowers with a smile too calm for the chaos around them.
Jason Cole had never been the type to panic. A 34-year-old lawyer, he prided himself on being composed under pressure, whether in the courtroom or life. But that July morning was unlike any other.
He was getting married.
To Vanessa Beaumont — heiress, fashion executive, and someone who demanded punctuality like she breathed air.
Jason glanced at the dashboard clock: 11:12 AM. The ceremony was scheduled for 11:00 at the downtown registry office, followed by a private garden lunch at her family’s estate. He’d left in time, even factored in traffic, but hadn’t expected a delivery truck to flip on the expressway.
He drummed his fingers on the wheel, eyes scanning for alternate routes. That’s when he saw her — a girl, maybe eight or nine, standing near the median with a basket of roadside wildflowers. Her dress was threadbare, her hair uncombed. But her expression was serene, like she had all the time in the world.
She caught his gaze and walked toward his car, extending a bunch of daisies, lavender, and tiny white blooms.
“For your bride,” she said softly.
Jason hesitated. Normally, he would’ve rolled up the window, waved her off, or mumbled an excuse. But today felt surreal already — why not lean in? He pulled out a five-dollar bill and traded it for the flowers.
“Thanks,” he said, attempting a smile. “You saved me.”
She only nodded, then walked away before he could say more.
Traffic eventually began to move, and within twenty minutes, Jason pulled up in front of the courthouse. The security guard outside gave him a look as he jogged up the steps, flowers in hand and suit slightly wrinkled.
He checked his watch. 11:47 AM.
Still salvageable.
He took a breath before reaching for the doors — but paused.
The flowers had shifted in his grip, and something fluttered out from within the stems. A folded piece of paper, creased and yellowed.
He frowned.
It wasn’t a card or receipt. It was handwritten, in faint blue ink. His curiosity overrode his hurry. He unfolded the paper and began to read:
“If you’re holding these flowers, it means you’re about to make a mistake.
Please — before you go inside, take two minutes to read this. I beg you.
I’m not crazy. I’ve just seen what happens when people ignore their gut.
If this message found you, maybe it’s for a reason.”
“Ask yourself:
Are you marrying her because it’s right… or because it’s expected?”
Jason stared at the note. It wasn’t signed. No explanation. No return address.
His mind raced.
Was this some weird prank? A random coincidence?
But something about the note unsettled him. Not because it was dramatic — but because it touched a nerve.
He had been having doubts. Quiet ones. Ones he never voiced, even to his best friend Liam. Vanessa was perfect — on paper. Smart, stunning, accomplished. But their relationship was more merger than romance, their moments carefully curated for social media, family appearances, and fundraising galas.
He thought about the time he’d told Vanessa he wanted to take a year off and write. Just write. She’d laughed — gently, but in that way that told him she didn’t take it seriously.
“This is real life, Jase. Not some movie. Let’s be practical.”
Jason had nodded at the time. He always nodded.
He looked at the registry doors again. Inside, Vanessa would be waiting, furious but contained, surrounded by her mother, the officiant, and the photographer she’d booked for the ‘simple candid shots.’
The note burned in his hand.
What if it wasn’t random?
He pulled out his phone and dialed Vanessa.
She picked up on the second ring. “Jason. Where the hell are you?”
He hesitated.
“I… I’m outside. I just — I need a second.”
“A second? Jason, it’s nearly noon! Everyone’s staring at me like I got dumped! You can’t do this!”
He closed his eyes. The sounds of the city blurred into a quiet hum behind the thudding in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But I don’t think I can go through with this.”
There was silence on the other end. Then a scoff, followed by the unmistakable click of disconnection.
Jason lowered the phone. His heart pounded. Cold air rushed through his lungs, like he’d surfaced from underwater.
And he was free.
He turned, walked back to his car, and clutched the flowers a little tighter.
The note still sat in his hand.
Who left it?
And why did it feel like it was meant for him?
Jason drove aimlessly for over an hour.
The wildflowers sat on the passenger seat, now slightly wilted, but he couldn’t bring himself to toss them out. The note rested in the center console — creased and worn already, like a riddle he was meant to solve.
He replayed Vanessa’s voice in his head. The sharp edge. The disbelief. Maybe he should’ve handled it differently — explained himself more, stayed calm. But what would that have changed? The doubt wasn’t new. It had been growing roots for months. The note simply exposed it.
Eventually, he pulled into a small park near the outskirts of the city. It was quiet, shaded by trees, with a few benches and a walking trail that led into the woods. He sat in his car, rereading the note for the fifth time.
“Are you marrying her because it’s right… or because it’s expected?”
It haunted him. Not because it was profound — but because it sounded like his own thoughts, transcribed.
His phone buzzed. Liam.
Jason hesitated, then picked up.
“You okay?” Liam asked, voice low.
“Not sure,” Jason replied. “But I didn’t go through with it.”
“Yeah. I figured. Vanessa posted a picture of her hand with no ring and a caption that said, ‘Dodged a lifetime of boring brunches.’ So… that’s a thing.”
Jason sighed. “Wow.”
“I’m not saying I saw this coming, but… I saw this coming,” Liam said gently. “So what now?”
“I don’t know. I think I want to find the girl who sold me the flowers.”
There was a beat of silence.
“You think she wrote the note?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. She handed me the bouquet. The note was inside. If she didn’t write it, maybe she knows who did.”
“Alright, Sherlock,” Liam said, amused. “Where do we start?”
Jason returned to the stretch of road near the accident. The wreckage was long gone, and traffic flowed normally again. But the girl was nowhere to be seen.
He walked along the sidewalk, scanning for any sign of her — a forgotten basket, a trace of flowers, anything.
Nothing.
He began asking nearby vendors and passersby. Most shook their heads, but one older woman selling oranges perked up.
“Little girl with flowers? You mean Mina?”
Jason’s heart jumped. “Yes! I think so. Do you know where she lives?”
“She doesn’t. Not really. Her grandma used to stay in the old shelter on Pine Street. But they move around a lot. Sometimes the church helps them.”
Jason thanked her and drove to Pine Street, near a faded community shelter. It was nearly evening now, and clouds gathered above, threatening rain. He parked and stepped inside, where a tired-looking volunteer behind the desk looked up.
“Looking for someone?” she asked.
“Yes. A little girl, maybe nine years old. Brown hair. Sells flowers. Someone said her name might be Mina?”
The woman smiled softly. “Mina, yes. She’s a sweetheart. Haven’t seen her since last week, though. She and her grandmother come and go. You’re not the first one looking for her.”
Jason blinked. “Wait, what?”
“A few months ago, another man came in asking the same thing. Said he found a note in her flowers. Thought it was fate or something.”
Jason felt the air shift around him. “Did… did he say what the note said?”
“Nope. But he looked shaken. Like you.”
Jason took a breath. “Do you know where she is now?”
She hesitated, then handed him a slip of paper. “This is the church they go to sometimes. If you’re meant to find her, maybe you will.”
It took two more days of searching. But on the third morning, Jason finally saw her.
Same roadside. Same basket of flowers.
“Mina?” he asked gently as he approached.
She looked up. “You came back.”
Jason crouched beside her. “The note… did you put it in the bouquet?”
She tilted her head. “No. But I knew it was there.”
Jason stared at her, puzzled. “You knew?”
She nodded. “I give the flowers. The right person always gets the right one.”
He looked at her more closely. Her eyes were the color of lavender — soft, piercing, ancient somehow.
“But who writes the notes?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Different people. Some come back and leave a message for the next person. Like a chain.”
Jason sat on the curb next to her, stunned.
“So you’re saying… this has happened before?”
“Yes. Some people don’t listen. But some do.”
He looked at her, this barefoot girl with the eyes of someone far older than nine.
“Did I do the right thing?” he asked quietly.
She smiled, and for a moment, it didn’t feel like a child’s smile. It felt like peace.
“You listened to your gut,” she said. “That’s always the right thing.”
Jason didn’t know what to say. He reached into his pocket and took out the folded note again. Then, slowly, he pulled a pen from his jacket.
“Can I leave one too?” he asked.
She handed him a fresh flower — a single white daisy — and he slipped the new note inside its stem, heart pounding again, but this time with clarity.
As he stood, Mina looked up at him.
“Someone will need it soon,” she said.
Jason nodded, then walked away — lighter, freer, not knowing where he was going, but certain he was no longer walking someone else’s path.
Tàu gặp nạn đang được cẩu lên để lật lại – Ảnh: VnExpress
