It's a quiet afternoon in my office. The rhythmic hum of the air conditioner fills the space, offering a rare sense of calm amidst the usual hustle and bustle of the hospital. I glance at the clock on the wall, noting that I have a few more minutes before my next patient.
Outside, the world is bathed in soft sunlight, filtered through the large windows that overlook the city. It's strange how time moves so quickly here, in this world of endless diagnoses and treatments. Yet, today feels slower, as if time has decided to take a pause.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples lightly. The usual noise of my thoughts—the constant stream of medical concerns and responsibilities—seems quieter than usual. And, almost unbidden, a memory surfaces.
Lilac.
I don't know why she comes to mind today, of all days. It's been years since I left that small town, the place where we used to play beneath the oak tree. I haven't thought about her in what feels like forever, but now. . . her name l i n g e r s in the back of my mind like a distant melody, tugging at something inside me.
I close my eyes for a moment, letting the memory unfold.
She's seven, standing under the shade of the oak tree, laughing at some silly joke I've made. Her laughter—bright, carefree—echoes in the quiet afternoon air. I can see the sunlight filtering through her hair, casting golden highlights over her dark locks. Her lavender cape flutters behind her as she spins, pretending to be some hero on a grand adventure.
And I'm right there beside her, ready to defeat whatever imaginary dragon she conjures up.
I smile at the thought, my chest tightening with a bittersweet ache. Those days felt so simple, so innocent. Back then, we had no worries beyond whether we could finish our game before the sun set or whether Mama would make us come in for dinner before we were done saving the world.
I was just a boy with dreams of becoming a doctor, and she. . . she had that little flower shop dream, something she talked about with so much excitement.
I wonder if she ever did it—open that flower shop.
I picture her now, grown up like me, maybe standing behind a counter surrounded by flowers, her smile just as bright as it was back then.
Would she still laugh the same way?
Does she still wear that lavender cape?
YOU ARE READING
Skies & Florets
RomanceShe has built a quiet life in her small-town flower shop, surrounded by the blooms she's always loved. But as the years pass, the memory of her childhood friend-the boy who once promised to be by her side-lingers like a ghost among the petals. Now g...
