No More Roses

The first time he sees him he glares because the man is very intimidating.

He’s a tall foreboding figure in his dark-colored military-grade vest, helmet, and issued weapon strapped to his chest. Each piece serves as a stark reminder of the disruption to their lives that the war has caused. The shadow from the rim of his helmet falling over his eyes is what makes him look so menacing looking down at him when they first meet.

“I’d like to purchase one rose please,” the man says.

Although he’s polite his gruff voice scares him at first. He decides he doesn’t want this type of customer.

“We have no more roses,” he tells him.

The man looks at his cart which is full of them but he doesn’t question his obvious lie.

“How about one tulip?”

“We have no more flowers,” He tells him hoping he will get the picture that he doesn’t want his business.

He’s not sure he can put it more bluntly than that without feeling, as he already does, that his life is in danger just from the man’s presence.

“Okay, sorry” the soldier apologizes to him and carries on down the dusty roads.

The next day they meet he notices the man’s blue eyes are cold as ice and completely foreign, just as he is to their country, an unfamiliar biting presence. It’s easy to tell he’s not like them just from the way he approaches them. He’s stiff as a board when he walks as if he always has to be distinctly aware of his surroundings. He guesses he does since it is just part of the man’s job.

“Good day,” the man greets him with a slight smile this time, “I’d like to purchase one rose, please.”

It surprises him that man even bothered returning the next day given their last interaction. Maybe buying the rose was something very important to him. Why must he choose his stand though? There are many on the street with Valentine’s Day arriving at the end of the week. Certainly, the others he could even haggle for a lower price than the ones he’s selling here.

“We have no more roses,” he says.

The man again looks at his full cart and then his cool blue eyes skate back to the flower sellers.

“Sorry,” the man blurts embarrassed tipping his helmet awkwardly and he continues down the street.

On the third day, he expects the man to come again. This time he decides if he asks for a rose he would sell it to him in hopes that he won’t return again.

“Hello, good day,” the soldier greets him, “I would like to purchase one rose please.”

Was it his imagination or were his greetings getting longer? Instead of answering he points to the price on the sign.

Surprised the man searches his pockets for his wallet. The man hands him his money so he plucks a rose from the bucket that’s already wrapped. He hands it to the man and then he returns his attention back to his cart to get his change. When he turns back around to give the man his coins he’s gone. He sees his tall figure a little way down the street.

He thinks he can run it to him, but he doesn’t move as he’s afraid to leave his cart unattended. Had the soldier not known he overpaid him? He sets aside the extra coins not knowing if he’ll ever see him again.

On day four he’s startled by the soldier’s voice after he hands off a small bouquet to another customer.

“Hello and good day” the man starts same as always but a little longer and he cuts him off.

“Hey, you forgot your change yesterday,” he says.

He lifts the cup he set the coins under. He grabs them and places them directly into the man’s hands curling the soldier’s fingers with his, so he doesn’t drop them.

A deep blush sets on the man’s pale features and flustered he pockets the coins and rushes away.

What was that about he wonders.

He’s also curious if the man was going to ask to purchase a rose. He didn’t finish what he was saying so he guesses he’ll find out tomorrow.

On day five his cart is fairly busy, and he sells so many roses he thinks if the man doesn’t show soon he’ll actually sell out. He won’t have to lie to him like all those days earlier.

Luckily the soldier arrives in time to get his rose. Since he stands out in his uniform the seller sees him coming.

“Good day,” he greets him first this time with a smile when he’s close enough to hear.

The man’s eyes widen and for some reason, the seller feels like he did something wrong by messing up their natural order.

“Good day,” he returns his greeting slowly “can I purchase one rose please.”

“Yes,” he tells him still smiling.

He no longer felt intimidated by him, he’d seen how he was a bit awkward and clumsy sometimes and it became sort of endearing.

The man reaches into his right pocket to grab his wallet and hands him the bills. He gets his rose, and the seller can’t help watching him as he doesn’t want the man to run off without his change again.

When he hands back his change this time he drops it in his hand remembering how flustered the soldier became after he’d touched him. The soldier pockets his money and he thinks the interaction is over, but then the man reaches into another pocket. He slips the seller a note and he makes his way as he always does back down the streets.

When he sees the tall silhouette is out of sight blended into the crowd he unfolds the man’s letter immediately.

The handwriting is a bit scratchy but it’s readable.

‘Will you be my valentine?’ is how the letter starts and the man goes on to describe how on his patrols. He says he’d often pass by him diligently cutting flowers and making beautiful bouquets that reminded him of home. Day by day he says he started to like him but didn’t know how to start a conversation so one day he decided to buy a rose. He left dejected at first but was reminded by the flower seller’s own diligence that he shouldn’t give up so soon. So, he tried again and again and was so happy when he sold him a rose. If he doesn’t have plans or someone special, he asks if he’ll join him for dinner on Valentine’s Day but of course only if has no more flowers to sell.

“Hello, could I get some roses?” The random customer’s shrill voice breaks him out of his reading.

He didn’t know how he would answer the soldier tomorrow he had to think about it. He refolds his note and stuffs it in his back pocket.

Outside with his cart on Day 6 he is flooded by last-minute buyers. He has a consistent string of customers throughout the day. He keeps searching the crowds for him, but he never sees the soldier. The day ends with most of his flowers gone and he goes home to get a good rest for tomorrow.

Valentine’s Day as the flower seller expects his roses to be gone in minutes. There is so much business that by midday he’s down to only tulips and carnations and even then, it’s not very many. He still thinks about the mysterious soldier that visited him and wonders if he was disillusioned and if their meetings were all in his head. He keeps his eyes peeled same as before for the gentleman dressed head to toe in military garb. He gives up when he’s down to one last tulip at his stand.

“I’d like to purchase one rose please”

“We have no more roses,” he says robotically as he’d been telling people all day.

“How about one tulip?” The man asks.

The seller sighs plucking the tulip and turns to hand it to the customer, he doesn’t even care if he pays for it or not.

He takes in the figure and he feels like his ears had played a trick on him after having only not seen the man for one day. It’s him, he thinks, looking into the piercing blue eyes. His uniform is replaced by a white button-up and heather grey pants. No wonder he couldn’t have picked him out in the crowd. His hair which he’d never seen before is short and jet black.

The seller can’t help smiling at him as he hands him the tulip. He thought the soldier had given up on him or something.

“Did you read my letter?” The man asks him nervously.

He nods.

“I see you have no more flowers,” he says looking at the buckets.

It’s strange how he had showed up perfectly timed to take the last tulip.

“Were you watching me this whole time?” He asks him and sees as the soldier averts his eyes.

His pale cheeks grow as pink as the tulip he’s holding. He doesn’t need to answer anymore as the seller can just tell he’s right from his reaction.

Still, the man is honest, and he tells him he was watching or more so waiting for an opportunity to approach him.

The seller laughs and he begins to walk over to his buckets to stack them.

“So what’s for dinner?” He asks him as he continues to pack up his stand.

“I-it’s a surprise,” the man says flustered.

“Oh okay,” he says gathering the buckets and sliding them into the wooden storage under the cart.

The man comes beside him and helps hand him the buckets to pack. When they’re done the flower seller shuts the wood doors and clasps on a thick chained coded lock. He pops back up from having bent to put the buckets away. He takes the soldier’s free hand, the one that isn’t holding the tulip. He’s surprised and looks over at him instantly.

“Lead the way,” the flower seller smiles at him.