The Truth About Love

Bloom

He crouches in the garden, knee deep in a pit of dirt. Everything from his mock to his gloves are caked in a thick layer of manure as he pats down at a neatly placed new row of seedlings. From what she can catch from the third floor as she passes to her next class, this row is hydrangeas. Unlike the other plants she's overheard him talking about over the years, these hydrangeas seem to mean the most to him. His voice, regularly level and raspy, raises a few notes to an animated, deep chatter. His body seems to spring to life with the mention of a rather simple and unpopular flower, with his hands gesturing wildly to the specific arrangements he's done to facilitate the ideal environment for the little flowers.

For two years, everyday, she's stopped by this window on her way to her economics class just to gaze down at him. Her problems, her concerns, seem to wash away at the sound of his voice, the way he quietly yet passionately pours his love into that flower bed. Slowly, she's come to know more about his life from the small moments she pauses at the window. He's just a year old than her, he's surprisingly not a horticulture major, and he doesn't seem to know much about anything except gardening. She also knows facts about him that no one else seems to notice, from the fact that his head of messy brown locks shine a brilliant mahogany under the afternoon sun, or the fact that he seems to lose himself in every part of the gardening process, his grey eyes unfocused and soft as he gazes upon his hard work.

She stares down at him from the third floor window, simultaneously admiring him for his selfless dedication for what others may view as a waste of time and somewhere in heart, willing him to look at her too. But day after day, those grey eyes are fixated on the ground below her, and despite her own heart, she can't bring herself to drag him away from the flowers.

Somewhere behind her, she distinctly hears the sound of her friend asking her to hurry up. Yet today, more than any other day, she's enraptured by his movements, her heart beating wildly in her chest at the mere sight of him. Her friend, impatient as ever, perches her head softly on her shoulder, looking down together.

"What is he planting" her voice doesn't seem to penetrate through the haze of watching him lovingly do his craft.

"Hydrangeas", She whispers and just as the words cross her lips, his eyes flicker upwards. Her hair hanging down from the window, delicately blowing in the spring breeze seems to catch his eye first.

She feels herself freeze, slowly feeling his gaze slide up from the tips of hair all the way to her. His hands drop the shovel in one hand, with a quiet thud onto the damp earth beside him.

Feeling his cool steely gaze fixated on her, she slowly shifts her focus on him too, willing herself to meet his eyes. Upon looking directly into his eyes, a warm flutter drifts through her chest, a strange completion. She sees his the corner of his lips tilt upward, and with a touch to her own face, she realizes she's softly smiling too.

"Hey there, do you want to come down here?" He says, his deep voice clear and friendly. With their smiles both unmoved, she nods, the warm flutter building in her chest.

Something new bloomed in the air as she raced down to see him, and this time it had nothing to with the garden. 

A new beginning.