Starring: Dara Park, Kwon Jiyong

A story dedicated to a friend whose username has one of my favorite colors. She’s a really, really cool person, although she’s too modest to admit it. Either that, or she’s still in the denial phase.

She really is cool, though. If you have been reading her blog entries, you’ll know why.

I think she’s angry at me too.

P.S. Unnie, I feel *pfft* about this. This is definitely not my best. I’ll make it up to you. OTL

People regret things they haven’t done or something they did that ended up badly.

I only have one thing to regret.

That was…

…not saying the words I had to say.

If I did, he would not have left with a pained expression.

I tried to forget.

I really did.

But every time I smell the fragrance of lilacs wafting in the summer air, it reminds me of him…

Of how we met…

…and how he left.

I live a simple life.

Unlike kids my age, who can be said as having the time of their lives, I spend my days tending to a small flower shop my grandfather owned. Described by others as boring and dreary, I could not ask for a better way to live my life.

I feel at home whenever I was in the shop, creating a work of art using flowers. My whole life was centered on those. I had no friends, except for the person who took good care of me since I was a kid.

While my grandfather takes care of the business matters, he leaves me to do the flower arrangements. It was one of the things I could take pride of. My grandpa always told me that the customers find my creations ethereal, if not, beautiful, and that I have an eye for beauty.

It was in the middle of the summer when I met him.

My grandfather was away to take care of our orders and he left me to man the shop. Normally, I just cooped inside the back room, but since no one would tend to the business, I volunteered. I was perched on the stool behind the counter, making a lovely spray of clean-lined callas and purple hyacinths when I was distracted by a sudden flash of white light. Startled, I turned my head to look around and that’s when I saw him.

There was a young man standing outside of the shop, holding a camera, looking as shocked as I was.

Somehow, the whole situation we were in made me smile a bit. Sure, it was awkward but there was something cute about it too. I went back to the flowers I was arranging to hide the grin I was trying to suppress. Moments later, I saw a hand knocking on the counter and I looked up.

It was him again.

He made a bow and went further inside the shop, perusing the flower arrangements I already finished. I followed him with my eyes, and the grin I was hiding showed naturally.

The guy was wearing an overlarge plaid button-up blue shirt and a white tee underneath. It was fashionable, but only up to that point. His slacks, or more likely, sweatpants, looked out of place.

Pink sweatpants. Wow.

I saw him look at me and he looked definitely flustered. I avoided his gaze, not wanting to offend him and his peculiar choice of clothes. From my peripheral vision, I noticed that he was rolling up the legs of his pants.

That time, I turned around and was shocked on how a simple rolling of pant legs would change a person’s look.

He looked up and when our eyes met, he grinned.

His grin, although boyish, made my heart jump a bit. And when he walked to the counter, holding a bunch of flowers, I was still in a trance that he had to knock again on the counter.

When he gave me the flowers to wrap, I smiled at his choice of flowers.

Gardenia and purple lilacs.

It meant secret love and first love.

I silently wondered if he knew the meaning of those flowers. I guessed he did because he was blushing to his roots and he couldn’t look me in the eyes. I delicately arranged the flowers for him, and as a finishing touch, I tied a black lace to the flowers he bought.

And since the shop required the customers to write their names, I shoved the receipt in front of him, pointing at the blank line, making him write his name. He did and after that, he left.

I never thought I would see Kwon Jiyong again.

But he was there in the shop every day, buying the same bunch of flowers from me.

His appearance became like clockwork, and after a month, I was already anticipating for his arrival. I get anxious and worried when he’s late and feel happier than usual when he gets in.

Although he became a regular in the store, we never had a conversation other than his usual, “I’ll get this.”

He came and went bearing the flowers he bought.

And then one night, a night almost at the end of the summer…

Jiyong barged in the shop, despite the Closed sign hanging outside the door. He was panting and he looked like he wanted to say something important.

I stopped what I was doing once he opened his mouth to talk.

“Excuse me… Tomorrow, I’m going abroad.”

I frowned, trying to understand what he was saying. He scratched the back of his head and shyly added, “That’s why…”

“I’m here to say...”

“To be honest, I really like you. And if you like me back, I won’t go. I’d stay. I’d stay by your side.”

He stood there, looking at me, waiting for me to speak.

Only silence followed.

He took my silence and confused reaction as rejection. With a dejected look in his face, Jiyong rushed out of the shop, leaving me inside, frozen on my seat.

It didn’t take me a long time to realize what he just said.

I stood up, ran outside and almost fell flat on my face when I tripped on something.

It was a rolled large piece of paper…

…tied with the same ribbon I used to wrap flowers Jiyong bought in the store.

My fingers trembled as I unrolled it and the moment I saw it, I knew I made a mistake of not stopping Jiyong from going out, from leaving.

It was a full-blown picture of me, with callas and hyacinths around.

It was taken the day I first saw him.

I looked around, hoping that I would see him, his shadow even.

But the street remained empty.

I wanted to call out for him, scream his name.

But who was I kidding?

He’s not there.

He’s gone.

He would never hear me.

That night…

Since he left…

He never came back and I never saw him again.

If only I could speak, if only I could talk, if only my voice could be heard…

I would have told him the words I wanted to say all along.

But I can’t speak, I can’t talk, my voice will never be heard.

I have spent my life in silence—hearing nothing, speaking nothing.

I never heard the birds chirp, nor hear the rustle of the leaves during a windy day.

I never recited a poem, nor sing a song to ease my pain.

I only relied on reading expressions and lip movements to hear, and sign language to convey what I wanted to say.

I have accepted my fate a long time ago, but when he came, it made me wish that I was normal—that I could at least hear or talk.

Glancing once on the picture framed and propped on the counter, I placed my right hand on my chest. I let out a small smile as my hands made fluid gestures that could signify only one thing.

One thing I have been meaning to tell him all these years.

“Me too. I love you too.”