Flowers for the madam

The lift door was about to close when suddenly two men entered.

It was quite late, about 9 plus at night.

It was a father and son. The son seemed to be in his early twenties and the father, I reckoned, forties.

The latter was flipping through the mail that he had just collected.

In his right hand was a tiny bunch of yellow flowers.

They looked like they were freshly picked from the roadside; mere twenty-cent sized, about six to eight of them in the bundle, with stalks no longer than my longest finger, meticulously picked and arranged in a small little posy.

It's autumn now; Singapore is no temperature country but the streets are lined with flowers in bloom - white, yellow, pink, purple, red...

Who were the flowers for?

Must be the madam, I reckoned and my heart melted...