Roses

"For you," said a flower girl that seems to pop out of nowhere when I just passed the garden in front of the train station. At her hand were two stalks of red roses.

"Sorry, I don't bring any money right now," I say apologetically, almost as a reflex. It was a lie since I had money in my pockets. But I don't think showing up in a meeting with roses was a good idea. And I am not particularly fond of roses since I prefer wildflowers more than any roses.

The girl pouted as if she was offended by my remark. "This is free, sister."

"Free?" I raised my eyebrows in askance. "Why?"

"A good-looking brother give me money this morning but refused to choose any flower. So I give the flowers for free."

"Why me, though?" I ask again. Maybe she would stop pushing the roses to me if the girl got too annoyed.

But the girl just tilted her head. "Why not?"

I smiled bitterly at her. Finally grasped the flower, making the girl grinned in satisfaction.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see some bellflowers in her basket. "Can I get those instead of these roses?"

The girl shakes her head, hiding the basket behind her body. "No. Gorgeous lady like you can only get roses today!" shouted the flower girl while running away. As if she was afraid that I would seize bellflowers in her basket.

Today? What was so special about march fourteenth that I can't get my favorite flower in exchange for my least favorite flower?

I laughed aloud, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. It is still too early to be distracted.

What a weird day, I think before grasping the roses and crossing the deserted road to the cafe where my next meeting is supposed to happen.

***

Another peculiar occasion happened the next day when a handsome postman knocks on my apartment door. He sends me five red roses along with a box with a foreign chocolate name pasted on it. The kind that I won't find in my city's largest marketplace. Based and its weight, I think the box contained the real deal.

Seriously, this package gives me a headache. I can't find the sender's address or name, no matter how hard I look for them. I can't send them back, and I can't persuade the postman to remove them from my sight.

Instead, he shoves them into my embrace when I tried to reject the bundle before hurriedly scampered away. So I had no choice but to bring the package inside and put them at the coffee table. I am not crazy enough to open a gift from an unknown sender.

So I do the best thing I could, disconnecting my phone from the charger and dialed my best friend, Ella. She always knows what to do.

"Hi, do you know why people send roses and chocolate, Ella?" I ask hurriedly after hearing a sleepy greeting from the other side of the phone. A drowsy Ella is a cranky one. And I can't risk irritating her.

Hearing my question, my friend immediately scolded me, "Stop being extra." She grumbles for a while before adding in suspicion, "Wait. Don't tell me you disturb my rest for bragging. I demand a payment for this overtime work."

I sighed aloud, completely disregarding her statement about the overtime pay to whine, "I am not bragging."

"You aren't?" says the girl with an apparent surprise in her voice. Distantly, I can hear a bulbing sound as if she was boiling water.

It would be wonderful if the reason for this phone call is to brag. Yet there's one unanswered question that I can't answer, the biggest issue on why bragging is impossible.

"What can I brag when I didn't even know who the sender is." After taking few deep breaths, I add, "and you know I never really step outside of my apartment almost in a month. So there's no way I got them from someone that loves me from the first sight."

The response to my utterance was a sound of choking followed by ridicule. "Oh, right. I forgot you are just a step away from being a turtle."

I snorted at her remarks and says, "So, what do you think? Why would someone send roses and chocolates without telling their identity, when the most important thing to get someone's heart is by knowing each other?"

"Well, that sure is suspicious." My best friend hummed lightly before asking me, "Did those roses smell odd?"

I blinked at that. "Wait, let me--"

"Stop!" Ella is screeching at the other side, stopping me from getting out of the sofa to smell the roses. "Don't do that! You don't know what might happen if you do."

"Ah, don't worry, my apartment was a safe place. Nothing bad would happen to me here." I laughed to reassure her. But her warning ensures me to stay rooted in my place.

"I'll go to your place in the evening. Stay as far as you can from them, okay?"

I nodded dumbly, even though I know she won't see it.

"You never know what drugs or spells they put in those gifts."

"What?" I coughed in surprise. "spells? Are you being paranoid?"

Ella snorted. "Remember who disturb me to asks about roses and chocolates? She's the paranoid one."

I only could laugh weakly at her remark.

A few moments later, when the call ended, I stare at those package in contemplation.

Drug? I shudder at the thought. Now that Ella says it, I can see the possibility was there. With a towel in my hand, I take them away, putting the box and roses somewhere outside of my sight. I contemplated just throw them away. But the way that those five looked similar to two roses I got from the flower girl makes me have a second thought. 

Let's just think about them later, when Ella came in the evening.

I want to push the thought about the package out of my mind, but Ella's parting remark stumped me.

"Aren't they just trying to woo you?"

"Ha. I wish." That thought passed in my mind, yet I shake them away when they come. "But I am not a teenager that eager for romance, so I think that possibility is out."

"For someone that writes romance story for living, that was ironic, isn't it?"

I laughed aloud. Yeah. What an ironic life. I stare at two roses that remain at my coffee table with a sigh.

***

Two days later, another batch of roses came. Now it's contained eight stalks of red roses.

After almost half an hour of persuading, the postman finally agrees to let me send a response for two batches of roses I had been receiving. Honestly, I had a wild guess that the two roses I get on march fourteenth came from the same person. Sadly I had no evidence other than my superior weird gaze when I say that those roses are given for free by the girl that sells flowers in front of the train station.

Since the postman looks restless, I tore a random paper from my kitchen and scribbled notes on them. Asking the sender to meet me the upcoming weekend.

And when he has gone with my note, I sent a message to my best friend, "Next Monday, if I cant contact you, please look for my corpse."