At the beginning she said she despised being given flowers. Her reason: she had no use for them; they will just wither away and die with no purpose. To , on the following Monday, I came to her with a bouquet of flowers in my hands. She stared blankly at the flowers until she twisted on her heels and walked off in the opposite direction. All I could do at that time was laugh at her passive reaction while she inches away in her noisy heels. I skipped with a playful heart after her and popped the flowers in front of her once more.

“Take it,” I requested as I it forward.
“Doojoon, I know you did this to piss me off. We’ve been friends for too long for me to not know,” she informed me of the obvious.
I chuckled because she was correct.
“If you don’t take it, what will become of it?”I asked her.
“Keep it, throw it, or give it away; I don’t really care,” she answered nonchalantly.
“It was meant for you…” I trailed my sentence purposefully with my eyes cast down pitifully at the flowers.
“You’re annoying,” she rolled her eyes; unfazed by my superior acting. Nothing was said for a few seconds until I heard a little sigh escape from .

“Give it,” she held out her hand waiting for the flowers. I remembered I beamed with joy with a silly smile plastered on my face to show it when I heard her say that.

That was the first bouquet I gave to her, the bouquet that she almost rejected.

Today I wear my favorite outfit to bring her flowers. I put on my glasses and tweed hat as final touches to my attire before I left the house. The fresh spring breeze and the morning sun welcome me as I step outside. I take my usual stroll around the block and finally cross the street towards the flower shop. I had unknowingly made it a routine for myself to buy her flowers on Mondays.

Every Monday after the first bouquet, I brought her flowers just to see her response. She accepted them whether it was a single flower, a few rugged ones I picked from the park, or a proper bouquet, unenthusiastically and almost reluctantly. Eventually she warmed up to the idea of flowers every Monday. She would even smile to the flowers sometimes, and blush away in embarrassment when she realized I was watching her. Her favorite flowers were the full blown pink chrysanthemums.

Today I will buy her chrysanthemums. One day, I will be unable to bring her flowers, but until that day I plan to bring her flowers on Mondays. I pull the door to the shop open, a ring signifies my entry.
“Good morning, Mr. Yoon!” calls out the owner from the front counter as she bowed.
“Good morning,” I nod my head in acknowledgement.
She walks around the counter and towards a bushel of flowers. She pulls out the familiar flowers.
“I’ve prepared your bouquet for you,” she gives me the bouquet to check.
“For a November flower, these chrysanthemums sure do grow beautifully,” I mumble to myself.
“Of course, with today’s technology it isn’t impossible,” she smile diligently.
“I’ll take it.”
“When I find myself a husband, I want him to be just like you,” she admires. I hand her the money.
“Thank you,” I whisper in response. She hands me the change.
“Your wife must be happy to receive flowers from you ever Monday,” she smiles brightly.
I smile slightly.
“Thank you. Have a nice day, Mr. Yoon!”

It wasn’t until the day she finally had enough of my antics that it all fell apart.

“Enough of with the flowers!” she screamed as she slapped the bouquet of chrysanthemums from my hands. Petals scattered a few on the ground.
“I don’t want them!”
“I hate it! I hate you!”
I was too taken aback, so I just stood there dumbfounded. I couldn’t defend myself. I couldn’t argue with her. I couldn’t apologize.
I could have sworn the moment she finished her last sentence, I could see the initial shock and the momentary regret in her eyes before she escaped the scene.
That Monday was a horrible one and the few after that one was just as dreadful. During the Mondays she avoided me; I still bought flowers and kept them in hopes to give them to her on the day she finally agrees to see me again.

I never saw her again.

I never knew why she preferred chrysanthemums over an ideal rose or any other type of flower. After that day I finally understood.

The news reached me only after her waking. It came to me as a shock. When her best friend finally informed me, I refused to believe it. To believe it would mean to acknowledge the fact that she is gone; too far from reach.

She said it was suicide.

She had decided to end her life early, to leave it all behind. All the while that I had been giving her flowers light-heartedly, her world was crumbling behind her small smiles. That was the reason why she loved chrysanthemums. In a way, now that I think about it, she was desperately crying and screaming for help every time she asked for chrysanthemums. I was ignorant.

After a couple days of denial, I gave in and accepted reality. I packed the flowers I had been keeping for her into the back of my car and bought a new set of flowers since it was another Monday. On a lone trip, I head towards her, like I should have that day she broke before me.

One by one, with gentle care, I placed the chrysanthemums upon her grave. It covered her grave and beyond.

I kneel before her. I wanted to speak, to say something, but nothing was coming out. Instead, I felt as though there was something lodged in my throat. So I just remained silent, trying to suppress the emerging tears. That day I broke down in a man-made field of chrysanthemums.

Today I bring her flowers.

Because the chrysanthemum flower blooms in November, it stands for the light of hope in the dark times.

-source:www.myflowermeanings.com

A/N: If it wasn't clear, in this story, Doojoon is of old age; he's actually closing in on 70.

The flashbacks were when both characters were in their mid-twenties.

Plus to prevent confusion, Doojoon and Gayoon never got married.

It was simply the assumption of the shop owner; 

since Doojoon constantly buy flowers there.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed it.

Comments are welcomed!

thank you