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I stood in front of the flower shop, my fingers twisting the strap of my backpack, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. In my hand was a small bouquet of wilted sunflowers—petals drooping, edges turning brown, nothing like the bright, lively ones I’d picked out that morning. I’d spent half an hour choosing them, carefully selecting the tallest ones with the biggest blooms, determined to make it perfect. But now, they looked sad and lifeless, just like my mood, as I waited for my little brother, Leo, to finish his after-school club.
Today was our mom’s birthday. She’d been working overtime for weeks, tired and stressed, and I wanted to surprise her with something nice. I’d saved up my pocket money for a month to buy the sunflowers—her favorite—and a small box of her favorite chocolates. But on my way to pick up Leo, I’d forgotten the bouquet in my locker for two hours, and by the time I remembered, the sun had wilted them completely. I felt stupid and disappointed, kicking at a small stone on the sidewalk, trying to hold back my tears.

“Sis?” A soft voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see Leo standing in front of me, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his big, innocent eyes staring at the flowers in my hand. He was only seven years old, still full of curiosity, always asking questions about everything—why the sky is blue, why dogs bark, why I cry when I watch sad movies. But this time, I wasn’t ready for his question.

He tilted his head to the side, his small finger pointing at the wilted sunflowers, and said, in that quiet, confused voice of his: “he ask y why 😳” My breath caught in my throat, and I froze, not knowing how to answer. I’d practiced what I’d say to Mom if the flowers wilted—I’d apologize, tell her I was sorry, that I’d tried my best. But I hadn’t practiced answering Leo, who saw the world in black and white, who didn’t understand mistakes or disappointment.

“I… I forgot them in my locker,” I mumbled, my voice shaking, looking down at my shoes. “I wanted them to be perfect for Mom’s birthday, but I left them there, and the sun wilted them. I’m so stupid.” Leo didn’t say anything for a moment, and I thought he’d laugh at me, or ask another question that I couldn’t answer. But instead, he reached out his small hand and took mine, his palm warm and soft.

“It’s okay, sis,” he said, his voice gentle. “Mom won’t care if the flowers are wilted. She’ll care that you bought them for her, right?” I looked up at him, surprised, and he smiled—a big, toothy smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “But he ask y why 😳,” he repeated, this time with a small giggle, as if he could sense my embarrassment and wanted to make me feel better. “Why did you forget them? Were you thinking about something fun?”

I laughed through my tears, squeezing his hand tightly. “I was thinking about how happy Mom would be,” I said. “I wanted it to be perfect, and I got so excited that I forgot the flowers. I’m sorry I let you down.” Leo shook his head, pulling me toward the ice cream shop next to the flower shop. “You didn’t let me down,” he said. “Let’s buy Mom a new ice cream, and tell her the flowers got tired from waiting. She’ll laugh, I promise. And next time, we’ll remember together.”

We bought Mom a vanilla ice cream—her favorite—and I threw away the wilted sunflowers, feeling lighter than before. When we got home, Mom was sitting on the couch, tired but smiling when she saw us. “What’s this?” she asked, looking at the ice cream. Before I could answer, Leo spoke up: “Sis bought you flowers, but she forgot them, and they wilted. I asked her why 😳, and she said she was too excited to make you happy!”

Mom laughed, pulling us both into a hug. “Oh, my sweet babies,” she said, kissing the top of my head. “I don’t need perfect flowers. I just need you two. That’s the best gift I could ever ask for.” I looked at Leo, who was grinning at me, and I knew he was right. Sometimes, mistakes are okay, and questions—even the sudden, embarrassing ones like “he ask y why 😳”—are just a way of showing that someone cares. And that’s all that matters.