the flowers bloom, just like my love

⇨ ᏚᎢᎪᏩᎬ ᎾNᎬ

it was the simple bloom of a flower that created life, but it was the love that formed it that killed.

the thought, or rather phrase, remained in the front of your mind for as long as you could recall. it formed ever since you learned about it during the ripe age of 10, and the concept of love finally clicked. not because of the emotion itself, you've experienced first hand just how beautiful it could be. two souls intertwined to become one, nurtured carefully with pure adoration in honey filled gazes, soft touches and a promise of eternity together. you had plenty of stories passed down by those who experienced the connection towards another human being, and for a fleeting moment it used to be something that you longed for yourself.

and yet the thought also terrified you.

it wasn't the commitment exactly, you knew if you were to ever fall in love it'd be with someone you were sure of spending the rest of your life with. if someone were to steal your heart, surely they had to have even an ounce of something that lured you in, and would treat you nicely into old age. no, it wasn't the idea of giving your heart to someone. it was the consequence of a one sided love that scared you.

hanahaki disease. one of the leading killers in the world you lived in, and the same one that was currently plaguing the heart of the woman you called your mother. you were aware of her disease, had known since the foreign petals appeared in her home during one of your weekly visits. you had done your best to care for her. when she was at home insisting it was a mistake and for months when her health deteriorated and she had been sent to the hospital, left to depend on medicine that could only do so much to delay the inevitable. the only thing you could do was hope for her to fight the statistics, and answer the phone ringing in your pocket.

the vibrations almost matched the shivers in your body upon hearing it, and came close to the fumble of your words as you excused yourself from the customers at the table of the small cafe you worked for. your mother had opened it, years ago when she was fresh out of school and had very little to her name. but the café ran strong, years later and even as you took over while she lay bedridden in her small space at the ICU.

your throat felt dry as you pulled the device up to your ears, and you swiftly cleared it to croak out a small greeting, "hello?"

"good morning, is this (name) (last name)?" the voice was soft, gentle enough to sooth even those obtaining bad news. you almost fell for the sweetness of their words.

"yes...it is me."

"how are you?"

"fine," you paused, reaching down to pick at the skin peeling by your thumb, "is this about my mother?"

it was quiet for a moment on the receiving end, as if they too had to clear their throat to speak, "you may want to come to the hospital as soon as possible and remind her of her options."

there were times you hated being proven right, and you nodded even though they could not see your movements, "i see. thank you."

you didn't wait for them to reply, swiftly ending the call and shutting off your phone. a soft, long breath was released through the cracks of your lips, working as a gentle attempt to calm the squeezing of your chest.

when you returned to the register you were stopped by one of your coworkers, a boy not much younger than you with shaggy hair and pity in his eyes. he stared at you for a moment, as if afraid of saying the wrong thing, but he fought off the uncertainty and spoke in a low, quiet tone, "was it the hospital?"

"arisu," you muttered softly in greeting, before crouching down and busying yourself with rearranging the display of sweets beneath, "it was. they said i should go as soon as i could."