He “made” (yes, MADE!) some flowers for me


It was a lovely day to begin with. Flowers bloomed at the tickle of soft rainshower, their colors bathing in raindrops and sunbeams. It seemed not so ordinary, but not necessarily extraordinary, with a long line of flower stalls snaking down the grove. If it wasn’t the girl carrying a bouquet of reds or whites and colors, it was the guy seeming to not know how to bring the flowers in such a way that no one would notice as if anyone would care.


Oh, right! It was February 14. You know. Lovely day.

Somehow, I knew the day would also be special for me because I had been told; no need to be surprised. But I wasn’t up to dressing up like I was to celebrate with everyone else. I put on a plain white shirt, a pair of micro-mini shorts, and red sneakers, which came along with a carefree mood, unmindful how Valentine’s Day would go and end.

The day had been planned anyway: we would have to spend it together, period. The details rested in the hands of spontaneity.

But I had to admit that one moment of surprise. He brought flowers for me: four reds, one yellow, all in a basket decorated with three little whites. All made of paper. Origami.
At first, my mind was like, “Flowers? On Valentine’s Day? For me? Peculiar.” I’m never used to it because I’d never wished for one, because I find the scenario too common, or somehow compulsory. So again I was like, “How do I handle this?”

“How do I handle this sweet piece of art from this man who looks totally masculine with his cigar, and who tries to be a little sweet without having to do so?”… “Stick to the status quo.” So all I managed was a “Thank you.” And a hug. And a smile that was trying hard to shut that bubbly mind up. Yeah, I heard everything I had to say…in my mind. He didn’t have to know. After all, he knows now.

He’d said enough with his artwork, even without the note that was supposed to stick on the other wing of the paper basket: It’s not a matter of quantity. It’s about the quality of time we spend together. Or something like that though.

Indeed, a surprise happened because I wasn’t prepared for that he-got-me-flowers part, and that made my day a threesome of kind: strange, sweet, and special.

And the “flowers”? Not fresh. And not so ordinary. Just the way I like’m!


Sidebar: My favorite part of the day was when he asked me to choose what flowers for his baby sister’s bouquet. I made a triple-tone of lavender, pale gold, and white Malaysian mumps. And without a card or a note, but a little prayer, “Hope she likes it.”


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He “made” (yes, MADE!) some flowers for me

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