Flowers

We were roaming the city the entire day. The sun had almost set in the orange-tinted, dim sky. We came across a flower shop and the scent of the bright flowers floated us in. The keeper asked him , "What kind of flowers does your lady like?". He looked at me. We had met only a couple of days before. So I wondered what his answer would be. He looked into my eyes, smiled at me and confidently told the keeper that he needed a bouquet of red roses. Well, I never liked roses. But I still pretended to like them and thanked him. We spent hours admiring the city lights from the bridge. I had to get back to my apartment as it was getting cold. He walked me home and before I went in he grabbed my hand. I looked at him in surprise. He said "Rose". "I'll call you Rose". Without even saying goodbye, he left. I didn't take my eyes of him till he vanished into the dark, just to see if he'd turn back and wave. How silly!

I went to my room and sat there staring at the bouquet for more than an hour. I smiled softly, saying, "Rose", "My favorite flower". Roses haven't looked the same to me ever since.

He brought me a red rose every day. We had a lot of fun together. I plucked a petal from each Rose he gave me and stuck them to my diary and I wrote down all the joy I felt with him every single day. He turned my dark days bright. He was the sunshine on my cloudy days. He always made me feel better. But, little did I know that this ray of hope had his foundation shaken. He was quiet about what he was going through. He made me the happiest person on the planet until one day I got a call from his mom. "He's dead", was all that I could hear. I dropped the phone. I shook my head, convincing myself that it was all a prank. I saw the guy who carried the world on his shoulders being carried by six men in a box. They say men don't cry. But that doesn't mean they don't feel. This world stereotyped the way men should behave. They say men ought to be strong but little do they know, most men pretend to. Men's mental health matters too! I wore a black dress for the first time, unpressed. That was the first time I ever went out of my house with unkempt hair. On my way to the funeral was the flower shop. The keeper asked, "what kind of flowers does your man like?". With a tear running down my face, I said, "Rose". I bought a bouquet of Red Roses. I got there. I saw his mom weeping. I placed the bouquet on his grave. I was asked to say a few words about him. I climbed the stage and choked with tears. I said, "Rose", "He called me Rose". I knew that was the worst funeral speech one could've possibly heard. But i preferred to say nothing more.

Even today, Red roses make my heart drop. They always remind me of the time I was the happiest. After him, life turned dull. The sky seems dead. The roses do bloom but they're not quite red.

People leave. Memories stay. So do the roses and all the pain.