No matter the season, she showed up every day at sharp 6 in the morning, a bundle of flowers in her hand. I never really talked to her, but she always greeted me whenever we cross paths. However, on that day, I decided to change the pattern.

“Where do you take those flowers?” I finally asked her.

She looked down, smiling hesitantly. “To my mother.”

“That’s very sweet of you. Does she live at the city center?”

She nodded. Though sadly, it was the only thing she wanted to disclose about herself. “How about you? What are you usually doing at this hour? I just realized I never asked…” Typical of her. If she did not want to talk about herself anymore, she turns the attention to the other person.

I smiled at her, glad that she showed the slightest hint of interest for me. “I am just going for a walk. I like it most when no one is around.”

“Hah, then I should get going,” she started to step away, chuckling, probably taking it as a perfect opportunity to break off the conversation. “Have fun on your walk, and see you tomorrow!”

This girl has always had her walls up. She would be warm on the surface, but the moment I started to ask something slightly personal, she deflected my questions. And although she never said anything when I disclosed something about me, she did seem to remember those little details – on my birthday, she gave me a little crystal because I told the group that I wanted to collect rocks. I only told her my birthday once, but she seemed to remember it. She did similar things to our other friends. Some people get unsettled by her private demeanor, and to be honest, sometimes I was not sure to which extend she likes – or tolerates – me. But I guess that is just how she is: Having thick walls up, but sometimes opening up a window. I sometimes wonder if she also acted that way in her other friend groups.

The next day, we met again. This time, she did not give me an opening. On the evening, we met at the group hangout. She told everyone how her day went – except the flowers. I tried to ask her about them again, but she deflected as usual.

Then came the next day. She seemed a little gloomier than usual. “Is everything alright?” I was concerned about her well-being because she did not seem to talk to anyone about her problems.

She smiled. I know that smile. There was something going on. “Yes, I just had difficulties sleeping like usual…” Of course she did not want to tell me what was going on. I did not continue my walk as usual but stood there until she was out of sight. I think I caught her rubbing her eyes. I heard from others that she had this bad habit of rubbing and scratching her eyes, it was maybe a small blessing that she was wearing glasses. But well, if you still rub your eyes with your glasses on…

I did not see her the day after.

And the day after.

And the next day.

I sent her a message, asking if everything was alright. Yes, she said, only caught a cold. She usually gets a fever on October, so she told me. “Do you need anything?” I asked her just to make sure.

“No, thank you. I have a friend who brings me some food. I hope I am well again by next week!”

She did appear again the next week. The fever must have been challenging for her, as I saw her still being weak and looking drowsy. “I can come with you, if you want?” I thought, if I could not be the person she confides in, or someone she did not trust yet, maybe I could just be there for her.

She stood still for a while. I did too. Then she nodded, and went ahead.

We did not take the bus, but walked all the way to the city center. Every time we passed a grave, she laid out some flowers in her hands, made the sign of the cross, and prayed for a little while. I did not share her religion, so I just stood there and watched. She did not bring the flowers to her mother.

We arrived at the church which she often talked about. She told me to wait, and came back with a key in her hand. She opened the front gates, then the ones of the church. With her finger on her mouth she told me to keep silent, else people would come and ask if they could enter the church. It would not be a problem if she had the time and social energy, but she told me that she currently lacked both. I chuckled but then nodded, and we sneaked in.

The church was still dark, she made the sign of the cross again with the holy water from the basin, and watched if I did the same. I hesitated, and she just shrugged. Then she turned some switch, and the Marian altar lit up. She looked my way, so I came to her. “This is my mother,” she told me, and put the last flowers in her hand in front the icon.