The flower that blooms

Previously

…She’d been working on it for weeks, a fragrance that whispered of survival, of finding peace amidst turmoil. She’d resisted naming it, unsure if she was ready to claim its meaning. But now, looking at the nascent irises in her mind’s eye, she knew. She uncorked the vial, a soft, clean aroma filling the air. It was the scent of a new dawn, of a quiet strength that had weathered the storm and emerged, not unscathed, but undeniably whole. It was the scent of hope. It was the scent of faith. It was, she realised with a profound sense of peace, the scent of her own blooming. She wrote the name on a small label, her hand steady, her heart full. ‘Iris’.