It was a single pink rose that he gave her on a normal Wednesday morning.

“What’s it for ?” She asked meekly, her cheeks the color of the rose as her fingers felt the smooth texture of the delicate petals.

“Nothing really. I bought it on the way here because I thought it suits your eyes.”

She brought it with her like some sort of treasure for the rest of the day. Only when the last petal withered and fell off did she finally agree to throw away the remains.

Occasionally he would give her a rose, which she would cherish until its wilt.

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