Yibo stood at the entrance of the small chapel, his heart a knot of grief, guilt, and disbelief. The smell of incense clung to the air, but what struck him most was the scent of white roses. They were everywhere—spilling from bouquets, wreaths, and delicate vases placed near the casket. Sean had always loved white roses. It was one of the few things Yibo knew for certain about him, a detail that now felt too fragile to hold onto in the face of everything left unsaid between them.
He stepped further into the room, feeling as though the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. The chapel was crowded, filled with mourners draped in black, their hushed voices blending into a dull hum. Yibo’s eyes were drawn to the front, where Sean’s picture rested on a stand beside the closed casket. The photo was a familiar one: Sean grinning with that mischievous glint in his eyes, the one that always hinted at some inside joke. But now, the laughter in that image felt like a distant memory.
His gaze lingered on the white roses framing the casket—each petal pure and delicate, as if in silent tribute to the gentle soul they represented. He remembered how Sean had once told him, with childlike enthusiasm, that white roses symbolized new beginnings and hope. Yibo had scoffed at the time, thinking it was just another of Sean’s whims. But now, standing in front of them, those roses seemed like a cruel irony. There would be no new beginning for Sean. Only endings.
Yibo took a seat near the back of the chapel, not ready to face the casket up close. People shuffled in quietly, heads bowed, their expressions etched with loss. He could hear fragments of conversations—people talking about Sean’s kindness, his generosity, and how he had touched their lives in ways both big and small. It was strange, hearing these stories from strangers, as if Sean had lived a thousand different lives that Yibo had never been a part of.
The priest’s voice broke through his thoughts, signaling the start of the service. Yibo listened in silence, his mind drifting between the present and the past. Memories surfaced—of Sean showing up unannounced with takeout, dragging Yibo out of his sulking moods with effortless charm, and of long conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. Sean had always been there, steady and bright, like a lighthouse guiding Yibo through the stormiest parts of life.
But now, Yibo felt unmoored, adrift without that guiding light. He shifted in his seat, unease prickling at his skin. The white roses seemed to mock him with their unyielding perfection, as if reminding him of all the times he had overlooked the cracks beneath Sean’s easy smile.
The priest invited those who wished to share memories to step forward. One by one, people spoke—friends, family, even acquaintances Yibo didn’t recognize. They recounted stories of Sean’s generosity, his infectious laugh, and the quiet moments when he had been there for them without hesitation. As he listened, Yibo realized with a growing sense of guilt that he had missed so many pieces of Sean’s life. He had known the version of Sean who stood by his side, but not the one who lived beyond their friendship.
When the room fell silent, Yibo felt an invisible hand push him forward. He rose to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest, and walked toward the front of the room. All eyes were on him, but the only thing he could focus on was the sea of white roses surrounding the casket.
He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “Sean…” His voice faltered for a moment, then he continued. “Sean was my best friend. He was the kind of person who could walk into a room and make it feel like home. No matter how bad things got, he’d always find a way to make you laugh, to make you believe that everything would be okay.”
Yibo’s hands trembled slightly as he gripped the edges of the lectern. “He had this thing for white roses,” he said, a faint, wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “He once told me they stood for hope and new beginnings. I used to tease him about it, but… he really loved them.” He glanced at the flowers, their soft petals glowing under the dim lights. “Now I get it. He wasn’t just talking about flowers. He saw beauty in things most of us overlooked. He believed in people even when they didn’t believe in themselves.”
The lump in Yibo’s throat grew, and he paused, struggling to keep his emotions in check. “But the truth is… I didn’t see him the way he saw the world. I thought I knew him, but I missed so much. I didn’t ask the right questions. I didn’t notice when he was hurting.”
His voice cracked, and he let the rawness of his grief spill into his words. “I thought we had all the time in the world. I thought there would always be another chance to talk, to laugh, to tell him how much he meant to me. But now… now all I have are regrets.”
Yibo stepped back, his gaze lingering on the casket for a moment longer. “I’m sorry, Sean,” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve seen you.”
The silence that followed felt heavy, but Yibo welcomed it. There was nothing more to say, nothing that could undo what had been lost. He returned to his seat, feeling as though he had left a piece of himself behind at the front of the room.
After the service, mourners gathered outside the chapel, exchanging quiet words of comfort. Yibo stayed back, reluctant to leave the space where Sean’s presence still lingered, however faintly. He found himself drawn to the white roses again, their fragrance wrapping around him like a bittersweet memory.
A middle-aged woman, Sean’s aunt, approached him with a sad smile. “He really did love those roses,” she said softly, as if reading his thoughts. “He used to say they reminded him that even in the darkest times, there was always light to be found.”
Yibo nodded, the weight of her words settling heavily on his heart. “He never gave up on that, did he?”
“No,” she whispered, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Not until the very end.”
Yibo swallowed hard, fighting back a wave of emotion. He wished he could go back, to rewind time and be the friend Sean had deserved. But all he had now were memories and white roses—fragments of a friendship that had ended far too soon.
As the crowd began to thin, Yibo lingered near the flowers, unwilling to leave just yet. He reached out and plucked a single white rose from the arrangement, cradling it gently in his hand. The petals were soft, almost fragile, and for a moment, he could almost hear Sean’s voice in the back of his mind, teasing him for finally appreciating the beauty of something so simple.
With a heavy sigh, Yibo tucked the rose into his coat pocket, close to his heart. It was a small gesture, but it felt right—like carrying a piece of Sean with him, a reminder of the hope his friend had never stopped believing in.
And as Yibo walked away from the chapel, the scent of white roses lingering in the cool autumn air, he knew one thing for certain: no matter how lost he felt, he would carry Sean’s light with him, even in the darkest moments.
