Blooming Days (One Shot)

It was one summer day. The sun was casting its bright rays on her head. She was standing alone in the middle of a sunflower field. The sunflowers were staring up at the sun, praising its master abundantly.

She recalled the first time they had met. Right in this dazzling field. Eyes burning with curiosity. Hands itching to touch. Feet hesitant to shift. His scent had overlapped the fragrance of the flowers. He smelled of lavenders, soil, trees, and cinnamon. As if he had lived in the forest for ages. But no, he was just another being living down the street who happened to be out here. Who happened to come across this innocent girl with pure heart and body.

This girl, he noticed briefly, had a pale face, and a mole on the sides of her thin lips. She smiled at him, and although he tried to smile back, he couldn’t. He regrets turning around and walking away as if he saw nothing. As if she was invisible.

Since then, she always came to this field. Looking out for him. Eagerly hoping to see him again. Because alas, it was love at first sight. She had fallen deeply in love with him. Her heart used to thump loudly whenever she would recollect the surprised expression of his. Her cheeks would burn intensely, and she would end up smiling on her own.

She yearned to see him again. She yearned for days. Weeks. Months. Years.

It was one summer day. The scent of lavender and cinnamon wafted through the sunflower field. She saw him kneeling down and smelling the flower from afar. She got excited; adrenaline running through her veins, and although she wanted to run towards him and introduce herself, she stayed behind because she had a feeling that he would leave once again like he did last time. So, she waited with bated breath. Patiently. And then she thought. That simply seeing him from a distance was enough.

She remembered that she didn’t like the feeling when he walked away from her. She didn’t want to feel that way again. And so, every summer day, he would come to the field, he would smell the flowers and she would watch him from a fair distance.

Although one summer day, he had retired from the girl he had unexpectedly encountered. The moment he lay on his bed and closed his eyes, her pale face, her red dress and her smile flashed before him in a pleasing image. Who was she? What was she doing there?

Then one summer day, he came back to the field, not because he wanted to see the sunflowers and smell them, because he wanted to see the girl in the red dress again. Woe, she wasn’t there. Woe again, she wasn’t there.

He came again. And again. And again for those one summer day, but never again did she appear before him. Never again did their eyes meet.

One summer day, when the sunflowers were staring up at their magnificent master, the girl stood in the middle of the flowers, shedding warm tears, breathing with difficulty, and missing the boy.

She regretted the choice she had made. Regretted it so bad that she wished she was as good as dead by now. She looked up at the bright ball of fire, her swollen eyes burning intensely, her pupils fading away into brilliant whiteness. When suddenly, she felt darkness, she felt cold. Her pain was gradually decreasing. Her eyes were cooling down, and then she felt the touch.

The touch of his rough hands that had been created to play an acoustic guitar.

One summer day, he came to the field, desiring nothing but to see the lovely girl that had accidentally captured his heart. He was walking, wandering thoughtlessly while gazing at the sunflowers who had averted their heads away from him. And then, he saw her. Merely standing there like the most alluring statue he had ever seen. She was looking up at something. He looked up too but saw nothing. He walked towards her, slowly.

He got close to her. Closer. She smelled of…sunflowers. Dry, but intoxicating and earthy. He then saw her eyes and they were turning crimson. They were wide and unblinking and he was astounded as to how she could keep them open for so long. It pained him to see her body still and her lips unemotional.

He took another step and placed his hand on her scorching eyes.

She blinked a hundred times, afraid that her sight would never come back to her. But fortunately, the image of her ballerina’s was progressively coming into view. She didn’t understand why she did such an absurd act, but she was glad that someone arrived at the scene at the right time before she could turn completely blind forever.

It striked her pretty late. And she scrambled to her feet from the bench outside a broken down café. She saw a figure sitting on the bench and hastily rubbed her eyes and blinked a few hundred times more. The figure finally came to be. A boy her age. Tall and handsome. But instead, she frowned. She was expecting him, she somehow knew it was him, but it turned out to be someone else. Someone who was watching her from distance too. Someone who had fallen in love with her before he had.

They were still. Silent. Like a watercolor painting. The sun setting into another tomorrow. Into another one summer day.

And then he smiled. He said a few simple words to her and walked away. As if he was fish who had missed the bait. He swam away.

What were those simple words you ask? Sorry, I don’t know because I was and am just an old woman watching from afar. Just an old lady who has no strenght left to speak, and yet I tolerantly open a book, uncap a pen and write this true story of what happened one summer day.

One summer day, they met. The real boy. Her true love.
She confessed. He accepted.
She kissed. He snatched her away from the field of sunflowers.

One summer days had gone by so slowly for me. She was my only friend. My only sight for the sore eyes. But I was happy for her. Seeing her cheeks blossom on her cheeks made me happy. Seeing her heart bloom made me happy. Seeing her not standing there under the sun, burning herself away made me happy.

He was something, That kid. That boy who freed her from an unknown misery.
But the boy who had protected her from the lustrous star was more than something.

I won’t tell his story because he was just a passerby. A rabbit in the background hopping away into the bushes.

You could say he was a supporting character maybe? But, if I began to tell you his story, I would need another book which I don’t have anymore. No more pages left. No more ink left. Poor guy has to die within my memories only.

It’s funny how one summer day, everything changes. Destiny chooses, we follow along.
I have a memory too, of my summer. However, I shall promise to not bore you with mine.

I knew very well, that the escaped boy and girl would come back.
I also knew the hero would come back.
Let me just say that he mentioned me those simple words he had spoken to her that day, and it made me cry. He made this old lady cry and he left with a smile.

The same, pathetic smile.

Sometimes, I wish she would’ve fallen in love with him, but when everything is already written, who am I to question fate, right?

After all, I’m just living in this sunflower field for only a little while.
Soon, someone will snatch me away from here too.

One summer day, she comes back. The sunflowers were staring up at their biased leader. The field was as heart-warming as she had remembered it. But she came alone. She came wearing a locket. She came with a shattered heart.

After all those years, she comes to me. And she cries. She cries hard because he had left the sunflower field as just memories. Leaving behind only the scent of cinnamon and soil. Leaving a fragment of his to linger on her pale, sun loved skin, and to overlap it with her sunflower perfume.

He snatched her away, but in the end, he forgot what he took and went away.

One summer day, she looks out at the field, memories gushing forth like huge tidal waves, when at a snap of a finger, she forgets everything. She forgets those eye moments, those touches, those rushes and those blooming days. She forgets who she was, who she had met, and who saved her from turning blind.

She withered away, just like I will.
Just like I will.

Her story will be told by me.
It’s nothing great. I know.

But every story matters. Even if it happens one summer day.

 

 

 

 

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Posted by

Author of The 13: We all Start as Strangers.17. Dancer. Blogger. Roleplayer. Addicted to Coke. Anime. Zelda. Cheese Lover. Gaming is definitely my style. Kpop lover. Self-taught Artist.

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