"You're here to pick up the jasmines you requested over the phone?"

"Yes, please."

"Alright then, I'll just get them ready. You can sit over there while I bring them." The florist, dressed in a crisp white apron, gestured toward a small table by the large glass window of the flower shop.

Paris managed a polite smile, returning the florist's bright expression. Flower shopping for the Queen had become a tradition—one of the many ways Paris showed her thoughtfulness. She knew how much the Queen adored flowers, especially jasmines, which were her absolute favorite.

With her family set to dine with the royal family that evening, Paris was determined to ensure every detail was perfect. Winning the Queen's favor had come easily, but the Prince—well, their relationship was another story. Complicated, to say the least. Despite their families' longstanding ties and the fact that she and Aiden had known each other since childhood, he had always kept his distance. He never showed up for their dates at the palace and avoided her at every opportunity. This dinner, and their impending engagement in three days, felt like her last chance to bridge the gap between them.

"Thank you," Paris said, removing her sunglasses as she settled into the chair by the window. The glass pane was enormous, offering a clear view of the bustling street outside. She liked it that way—being seen was something she relished.

Her eyes landed on an edition of the royal magazine lying on the table. A warm smile curled her lips as she reached for it. In just a few days, her face would grace its cover, announced as the future Queen. The thought filled her with pride. She flipped through the pages, her mind already crafting the perfect captions for her social media posts.

Across town, Anne-Marie was having a very different kind of day.

"Here's your payment for this week." The words were music to Anne-Marie's ears. Payday had become her favorite day, the day that brought her one step closer to securing Abel's treatment. With each envelope she received, the weight on her shoulders lightened just a little.

At this rate, Abel was going to be able to continue his chemo with no stress at all, just a little bit more and she could start living again and maybe take Abel's advice and go back to school.

She missed being in school, she missed being in the four walls of the classroom and learning like other kids did. Even though she knew she was going to be held two classes back if she returned now, she wanted to give it a shot, just like Abel wished her to.

Anne-Marie couldn't hide her excitement as she took the envelope from the round lady in front of her. Running pizza deliveries wasn't so bad after all. She opened it like she always did to count how much was in it. She couldn't afford to be a cent lesser than her agreed wage.

Perfect,
It was complete,

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Shay," Anne-Marie said, beaming as she took the envelope from the kindly woman who smiled warmly.

"No, thank you Marie for being so hardworking. Keep it up, and you'll be making more than even me."

The promise of more money made Anne-Marie's heart leap even though it was a joke. She carefully placed the money back into the envelope with her other earnings, her thoughts racing with plans of all the things it was going to get into, Abel topping the list.

"You shouldn't be walking around with all that money," Mrs. Shay cautioned. "You should keep it in a bank."

"I know, Mrs. Shay. I will." Anne-Marie nodded. "I've never really had a reason to open an account before. All I earn goes straight to the hospital, and I barely have the time. But now, with what I've saved, I can start thinking about school again—like Abel wants me to."

Mrs. Shay's eyes softened.
"That's wonderful, Marie. It's good that you're starting to think about yourself too. Oh, that reminds me—I have something for your little brother. Hold on."

As Mrs. Shay bustled away, Anne-Marie's gaze drifted to the flowers adorning the shop's entrance. They were beautiful, vibrant, and full of life. She had almost forgotten how much she loved flowers, even if her pollen allergies kept her from getting too close. Just looking at them brought a rare flutter of joy to her heart.

Ring!

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn't need to check the caller ID to know who it was. Her other job—she was late.

"Hello," she answered, placing the phone to her ear. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Kim. I know I'm running late, but I'll be there soon—"

She winced, pulling the phone away as Mr. Kim's voice erupted into a tirade. He was always like this, always yelling. Anne-Marie had learned to let him rant until he was done, knowing there was no point in arguing. She knew better than to interrupt him. All she had to do was pretend she was listening until he was done yelling. As she waited, her gaze drifted to the large glass window of the flower shop and then froze the moment she watched the florist walk up to Paris with a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She could see how the smile on Paris' face brightened.

What was this?

Anne-Marie could feel her fingers tremble on her phone as she watched the flower shop closely through the glass, unsure of what it was she looking at. She lowered her phone from her face as she felt her body go numb at that instant, and then everything else went static.

The florist was walking up to a girl inside the shop, handing her a bouquet of flowers. Anne-Marie's breath caught in her throat as she saw the girl's face light up with a smile—a smile that was eerily, impossibly familiar. Her grip on the phone slackened as a wave of cold numbness washed over her. She couldn't process what she was seeing.

Paris rose gracefully from her seat, relief and satisfaction spread across her face. Finally. The flowers were exactly as she had imagined—perfectly arranged, fresh, and vibrant. The Queen would adore them.

"They are lovely, thank you," Paris said, her smile widening as she took the bouquet from the florist's hands. The delicate fragrance enveloped her as she inhaled deeply, savoring the moment.

"There's no need to thank me," the florist replied, her tone warm and deferential. "I'm forever at the service of your family. I hope the Queen likes them."

"Oh, she definitely will," Paris assured her, quickly searching her pockets for her phone. She retrieved it, letting the device scan her face to unlock it, and then handed it to the florist. Her excitement was palpable.

"I should take a picture, shouldn't I?"

The florist's smile brightened, understanding immediately. She took the phone from Paris, carefully stepping back to frame the perfect shot. Paris lifted the bouquet to her face, tilting her head slightly to strike a pose. Every detail had to be flawless.

"Make sure you get every angle," Paris instructed, her tone light but commanding. "Make me pretty."

As the florist took a few pictures, Paris's mind was already crafting the perfect caption for them. Every very detail mattered—this was about more than just flowers; it was about cementing her image, her place in the royal narrative.

"Done," the florist announced after taking a few seconds. She exhaled slightly, her shoulders relaxing as she approached Paris to return the phone.

"Great," Paris responded, taking the phone back with a satisfied smile. She immediately began scrolling through the photos, her eyes narrowing as she examined each one. The florist watched anxiously, her heart racing as she hoped she had captured as Paris wanted. She knew how quickly Paris's mood could sour if things weren't exactly right.

As Paris flipped through the images, she felt a sense of accomplishment. Everything was falling into place, but then, something caught her eye. Out of habit, she looked up from her phone, turning her gaze to the large glass window.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

The florist noticed the change in Paris's expression and turned to follow her gaze. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw what Paris was looking at.

Standing just outside the shop was a girl who looked exactly like her, like Paris—same features, same height, same look, except for Anne-marie's  black hair pulled back into a ponytail. The florist's hand flew to her mouth as she gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"H-how..." she stammered, unable to tear her gaze away from the impossible sight.

Paris, too, was paralyzed, her mind racing as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing. How could this be? How could someone look exactly like her?
Anne-Marie felt her legs weaken as the reality of what she was seeing sank in.

"Impossible," she muttered, her voice trembling. This couldn't be real. It was like something out of a dream.

Inside the shop, Paris felt a chill run down her spine. The world seemed to tilt, reality slipping through her fingers. She could see the girl outside was talking on the phone, but her focus was entirely on Paris—on the impossible reflection that wasn't really a reflection at all.

The florist's voice trembled as she finally spoke, 

"I've heard stories of people looking alike, but not like this... not exactly like this..."

Paris didn't respond, she couldn't. Her mind was frozen, unable to process the surreal scene before her. The bouquet slipped slightly in her grip as she instinctively moved toward the door, driven by a desperate need for answers.

"Anne-Marie!" Kim's voice snapped her back to reality. She had forgotten she was still on the phone, her boss's angry voice now echoing in her ear. She needed to focus—she couldn't afford to lose this job, not when she was so close to securing Abel's future.

But Paris had already made up her mind. She needed answers, to see for herself, to be sure of what she had seen. She dropped the bouquet on the table and headed for the door, her heart racing.

Anne-Marie's survival instincts kicked in. Without another thought, she turned and bolted down the street, her mind screaming that she needed to get away, to forget what she had seen. Nothing mattered more than keeping her job, and she couldn't afford to be late, not now, not ever.

By the time Paris burst through the door and into the street, Anne-Marie was gone, disappeared into the throng of people, leaving Paris to wonder if what she had seen was real or just a figment of her imagination.

"What just happened?" Paris whispered, her voice barely audible over the noise of the city. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the impossible encounter. Who was that girl, and how could she look so much like her?

Paris turned back to the florist who had rushed out of the building the same, her wide eyes mirroring her own shock.

"Did you see that?" Paris asked, her voice shaky.

The florist could only nod, her face pale. "I-I've never seen anything like it. She looked just like you... It's like something out of a dream."

But it wasn't a dream. It was real, and it left Paris with more questions than answers, answers that neither of them had. And as Paris stood there, staring at the spot where the girl had been, she realized that this was more than just a strange encounter. It was the beginning of something that would change everything.