Night flowers

I assumed he was admiring my garden, the first night I met him. He would upturn each night-blooming flower, turning each between his fingers.

While admiring flowers isn't out of the ordinary, my garden grew right outside the door of my second floor apartment. And my garden was less of a garden and more of a mixture of containers and pots of various plants that condescended to grow for me.

I was unsure as I stood awkwardly on the second landing, keys hanging from my fingers.
I took a deep breath to speak, but he must have heard me, because he turned to me and smiled.

"You have a lovely garden," his voice was faintly accented, from where I'm not sure.

I thanked him and made some modest show of saying that the garden was small (because it was) and that there were many more things I wanted to grow (because there were).

He made a sound somewhere between an inward laugh and an affirmative grunt. He glanced over the flowers again before nodding to me and wishing me a good night.
As he walked away, I fumbled with my keys, watching him leave yet also trying to get inside.

Once inside, I locked the door, not out of fear, but out of habit. I found that at no time did I feel fear of this stranger, only curiosity. I pulled my window open a crack and snuggled into bed, drifting to sleep with the smell of night blooming jasmine lingering around me.

Bah, I watch too much drama/mystery/romance/weird TV. :P
Just a little something that was bouncing in my head and refused to leave me alone until I typed it out.

And tonight's photo... is not night blooming jasmine, but a Peruvian daffodil I coaxed into blooming for me while staying at my parents one summer. It didn't come back the next year though. Perhaps, it knew that I had left.