A guy asked me out, and I agreed. Later, I got a call saying flowers were delivered. I was so confused. I asked him if he sent them, and he said, “I did! You said you had a bad day, so I wanted to make it better for you.” Normally, I’d love this gesture. The only problem is that I never told him I had a bad day.

At first, I brushed it off, thinking maybe he’d just guessed. I mean, people can assume, right? Maybe I sounded tired on the phone or didn’t reply as fast. But something about it felt off. Too specific.

The bouquet was beautiful—roses, lilies, and tiny white blooms that looked like stars. There was a little note tucked inside: “Hope today feels a little lighter. You deserve peace.” That made my chest tighten a bit. It was kind. Too kind. But also… impersonal in a weird way. Like it wasn’t meant for me.

Later that night, I messaged him again. Just something casual. “Hey, thanks again for the flowers. Really thoughtful of you. Made my day.” He replied almost instantly. “Of course. Just wanted you to smile today :)”

Still… I couldn’t shake the feeling.

We had only been on two dates. Coffee the first time, dinner the second. He was sweet. His name was Luca. He worked in marketing, loved Italian food, and had a nervous laugh that came out when he didn’t know what to say. He seemed genuine.

So I let it go. For a while.

We kept seeing each other. A few more dates. Long walks. Inside jokes. I started letting my guard down. He was attentive. Always remembered little things I said. Like how I hated loud bars but loved bookstores. Or how I drink my coffee—iced, no sugar, just almond milk.

But the flowers kept coming.

Different kinds. Different messages. All sweet, but none of them ever referenced anything specific to me. There was always this disconnect.

One morning, a bouquet of sunflowers showed up at my door. I smiled until I read the card. “You said these were your favorite. I remembered.”

I never said that. I don’t even like sunflowers. That was the final nudge I needed.

That night, I asked him directly. “Hey, random question… you sure all those flowers were for me?”

There was a pause before he typed back. “What do you mean?”

“The sunflowers. The note said they’re my favorite. But I never said that.”

Typing bubbles. Then nothing. Then typing again.

Finally: “Wait—what address did you get them at?”

I told him.

Another pause.

“Okay… this is embarrassing,” he replied. “I think the florist messed up the notes. Or maybe I reused a message I wrote before. Not sure. I’m sorry.”

A message he wrote before?

Now it was getting stranger.

I didn’t want to be paranoid, but curiosity had me digging a little. I went on Instagram and searched his profile. Then I looked at the people he followed. One account caught my eye—her name was Clara. Her profile picture was a selfie with sunflowers.

I clicked. Public profile. Scrolled down.

In one post from two months ago, she was holding the exact bouquet I got. With the same kind of wrapping. Same note. I zoomed in.

“You said these were your favorite. I remembered.”

My stomach dropped.

Clara had tagged someone in the caption: @luca____

Him.

She hadn’t deleted the post. It was from before we met. But still. He had sent the exact same bouquet, same message, to someone else.

I stared at my phone for a long time.

Now I wasn’t mad that he dated someone before me. That’s normal. I was upset because the gestures I thought were thoughtful weren’t tailored to me. They were recycled.

And that made everything feel… fake.

I didn’t confront him right away. I needed time to figure out what I wanted. So I distanced myself. Slower replies. Politely declined the next few dates.

He noticed.

He called one night, his voice nervous. “Did I do something wrong?”

I hesitated. Then finally said it. “I saw Clara’s post. With the sunflowers.”

There was silence.

Then, finally, a quiet sigh. “I was hoping you wouldn’t see that.”

“Were all the flowers meant for her?” I asked.

“No,” he said quickly. “Not all. Just… a couple of times, I used old messages because I didn’t know what to say. I thought the words still fit.”

“But they didn’t,” I replied. “They weren’t mine. You didn’t write them for me.”

“I didn’t mean to make it feel cheap,” he said. “I just… I don’t know. I thought I was being romantic.”

I didn’t respond right away. I felt sad more than angry.

The next few days, I thought about everything. We had shared real laughs. Real moments. But now it all felt blurred. Like I was stepping into someone else’s love story halfway through.

I decided to take a break. Told him I needed space. To his credit, he respected that.

Weeks passed.

I focused on myself. Work. Friends. My own little routines. I journaled more. Went on long walks without my phone. Slowly, the sting faded.

Then one Saturday afternoon, I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize.

“Hi, is this Ava?”

“Yes…”

“This is Clara. I know this is random, but… do you have a moment?”

My heart skipped. I stepped outside to take the call properly.

She sounded calm. Not angry. Just curious.

“I saw you liked one of my old posts,” she said. “The sunflower one. And then I noticed we both followed Luca. I just… I wanted to ask. Are you seeing him?”

“Not anymore,” I said.

She paused. “Same here. Or… almost. He ghosted me.”

I let out a short laugh. “That sounds familiar.”

We talked for a while. Turns out, she and Luca had a short thing. Ended abruptly. No closure. Just like me, she had also received flowers, thoughtful texts, and sweet gestures that later turned out to be reused.

We ended up laughing over how similar the stories were. It was healing in a strange way.

Before hanging up, she said, “It’s weird, right? Like we were part of some pattern.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Like he was trying to copy-paste a connection instead of building a real one.”

After that call, I felt lighter. Not because I got answers. But because I wasn’t alone in the confusion.

A few months later, I ran into Luca at a coffee shop. Total accident. He looked surprised, but not uncomfortable.

We chatted briefly. He seemed different. Calmer.

He said, “I’ve been thinking a lot. About how I treated people. I realized I was trying to chase a feeling, not a person. That wasn’t fair to anyone.”

I nodded. “Thanks for saying that.”

“I’m in therapy now,” he added. “Trying to figure myself out. Finally.”

That was good to hear.

Before leaving, he looked at me and said, “You deserved better than recycled flowers.”

I smiled. “So did Clara.”

We parted ways.

That chapter felt closed.

Later that year, I met someone new. Not in a grand way. Just a casual meet-cute at a bookstore. We both reached for the same novel. Started chatting. Then coffee. Then dinner. And slowly… something real.

No flowers in the first month. Just conversations. Real ones.

He didn’t try to impress me with grand gestures. Instead, he listened. Remembered how I like my tea. Noted the authors I love. Brought me a secondhand copy of a book I mentioned in passing.

That meant more than roses ever could.

Looking back, I’m grateful for Luca. Not for how things went—but for what I learned.

I learned that gestures without intention are just noise.

That real connection isn’t about doing what looks good on paper—it’s about being present. Paying attention. Writing new stories, not borrowing old ones.

Sometimes, the kindest thing someone can do is make space for the right person to arrive. And sometimes, that means walking away from what only looks like love.

So if you’ve ever felt like someone’s second choice, or part of a recycled story—know this:

You deserve more.

You deserve someone who writes your name on the card, who learns your favorite flowers, and who shows up as themselves, not a version of someone they once were with someone else.

And when you find that… it feels different.

It feels true.

If this story made you feel something, share it with someone who might need the reminder.
And don’t forget to like—it helps others find it too.