break the heartbreaker : luke

flowers

7:32pm

after one last look at the doodles of a petal and a sun, i fold the letter again. as for the necklace, i don't want to put it back inside the box, since it might get squished or destroyed. i reach for my desk and place it on top.

there are two items left inside the box, and i decide to leave the more random one inside for last. i pull out another small ziploc bag, but instead of there being one dried flower petal, this ziploc bag has numerous inside. more than ten, i think.

i open the letter which has the words dried flower petals on it, getting ready to read.

"i never really knew what all the fuss was about with proposals. whether it was a promposal, or a proper marriage proposal, or any proposal for that matter. i never understood why people did it."

after the first paragraph, i know exactly what this letter is about, and what the flowers inside the ziploc bag are. this is about my promposal, my matthew cooper moment, as she said so before. the dried petals are from the bouquet of wildflowers i gave her.

"whenever my older sister would ask my parents to tell the story of how dad proposed, i found myself being highly uninterested. i would simply block out their voices, and focus on the book i was reading, or use my phone and play games, sometimes when i was feeling extra irritated, i'd excuse myself, saying i needed to go to the bathroom."

"i never understood it. the way my mom would tell the story for the 50th time, with the same tone as always, the same excitement, the same hand gestures, and obviously still the same happiness on her face. like it was the best story she could ever tell."

"i just didn't get it. why make a big commotion over such a thing? it's just a question, like any other question. why did there need to be kneeling involved, or fireworks at the background, or a beautiful sunset scenery? why couldn't it be just a normal day, at a normal restaurant? why won't people just ask like it was a simple question that required a simple answer of yes or no?"

i can't help but chuckle to myself. this letter, in the best way possible, is very vada. i can't word it. it's literally how her mind works.

"one day, when my mom was telling the story for, i think, was the 23rd time, i couldn't help but yawn. and i still remember the words she told me then: you just wait until this happens to you, vada, and you'll know exactly how i feel. you'll finally understand. then, i couldn't help but laugh."

"i was certain that if something even remotely close to a proposal happened to me, i would just laugh it off, pat the guy on the back, and tell him to have a good day. i would tell him to drop all the shenanigans, come with me to the nearest mcdonald's, and ask me the question again like the way the cashier asks if i want fries with my order."

i shake my head at this, and can't help but laugh again. "that was funny."

"i thought that was what i wanted. that something like that would be enough for me to say yes, to any important question. but, of course, a man named luke hemmings changed that completely."

"when my mom said that someday, i would understand, i immediately knew what she meant that day you pulled a matthew cooper. i remember everything so vividly. i could tell the story of how you did it 50 times, just like my mom, and many, many more times than that."

"i would tell them about how all the lights were still turned off, about how your voice boomed through the speakers. about how there were different flowers sprawled all over the auditorium, about how your eyes didn't leave mine for a millisecond as you sang. i would tell them about how you were still trying to carry my flowers for me, even while you were panting, and singing. i would tell them all of it, exactly how it happened."