We saw him every Thursday around 3pm.

Same motorized cart. Same yellow JEGS hat. And always—always—the same bouquet of red roses in the basket. He’d roll straight past the deli, turn into the floral section, pick the fullest bunch, and sniff them like it still meant something

He just smiled and said, “Not today. Just Thursday.”

That week, I decided to follow him out—just curious. He loaded his groceries into a beige sedan with shaky hands. Took his time, wiped the dashboard like it mattered, then opened the passenger door.

That’s when I saw her.

She looked elegant even in a worn cardigan. Gray hair pulled back with a velvet ribbon. Eyes wide and blank, like she was somewhere else entirely.

He handed her the roses without a word.

She looked at them like she’d never seen a flower before.

Then smiled.

“Are these from the man who used to bring me flowers?” she asked.

He paused for half a second. Then nodded.

Yeah, sweetheart. Every Thursday.”

He kissed her forehead and helped her buckle in.

I stood there watching like a fool, heart in my throat.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about how much it must hurt—being remembered as a stranger by the person who once knew everything about you.

But the next week?

He came back.

Same time. Same hat. Same roses.

Only this time, he grabbed a second bouquet too.

And tucked a note into that one.

I saw it slip out as he turned the cart—folded, handwritten, with just three words showing:

“In case she…”

I couldn’t shake the image of those roses, the blank look in her eyes, and the quiet devotion of the man with the yellow JEGS hat. It was a story etched in petals and silent gestures, a testament to a love that refused to fade even when memory did.

The following Thursday, I was determined to see what the note said. I positioned myself near the floral section, pretending to browse the lilies. He came as expected, his cart humming softly. He picked the usual roses, then carefully selected a second, smaller bouquet of white daisies. He wrote something on a small card, folded it, and tucked it into the daisies.

As he turned to leave, I couldn’t resist. “Excuse me, sir?” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “The note… what does it say?”

He stopped, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s just a little reminder,” he said, his voice gentle. “For her.”