Dear reader,

Have you ever received a bouquet? Or a flower?

Maybe from your lover. Or a friend. Or perhaps from some kind soul. Or, I don’t know, a TikToker for a video?

Because I have never received one.

Yep. Not even a single flower. Forget a bouquet.

You may find it hilarious that I feel bad about never getting a bouquet. Yes, I feel sad thinking about it. Maybe even a little jealous when I see those romantic reels and cute relationships where someone casually shows up with flowers because “I saw these and thought of you.”

And please, don’t tell me to preach what Miley Cyrus said: “I can buy myself flowers.”

I can.

But I don’t want to.

I mean, look—I can buy myself flowers. I have money. I have hands. I know where the flower shops are. I am perfectly capable of walking into one and saying, “One bouquet, please.”

And it’s not because I’m a stingy one.

(Well… that’s questionable. Anyway.)

It’s because… don’t you see how intimate it is when a person sees a flower and thinks of you?

Not, “Oh, flowers are pretty. I’ll buy some.”

But—

“She would like these.”

“These are her colour.”

“I don’t know why, but these reminded me of her.”

And then they actually buy them.

They carry them all the way to you.

Maybe in an auto, accompanied by the muffled tunes of an old ghazal.

Or on public transport, where office uncles are desperately trying not to fall asleep while balancing their lunch boxes in one hand.

Or on the backseat of their bike, the flowers gently swaying as they move through the city like a lazy dream.

They stand in front of you, perhaps looking a little embarrassed, and hand you something that was once just a flower sitting among hundreds of other flowers—but somehow became yours because they thought of you.

That is what I want.

Not the bouquet.

The thought behind it.

I don’t want to give myself flowers because, honestly, I already know I exist.

I want someone else to look at something beautiful and, for a tiny little moment, have me cross their mind.

Is that really too much to ask?

Apparently, for me, it is.

Because, dear reader…

I have never received even a single flower.

And yes.

I’m still waiting. 🌷

So, next time you find a sleep-deprived woman aggressively scrolling past cute Instagram videos, maybe that’s me.

Trust me, I’m not jealous.

I’m just…

waiting in the queue.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

THE ART OF UNFAMILIAR ROOMS IN A NOISY CITY

 A city with a royal past and restless present—palaces that still remember crowns, streets that forget faces too quickly.  I arrived here 7 moons and 3 rains back,like a sentence unfinished, carrying myself in a bag that still smells like the place I left behind. A new city of voice and noise. The walls here do not remember me yet. They stand like strangers pretending not to stare. My hostel room is small—smaller than the thoughts that refuse to sit still. The fan above me keeps circling like a tired prayer, as if it forgot what it was asked to cool. I lie beneath it anyway.  There is a loneliness here that does not announce itself. It simply arrives, sits beside me, and behaves like it has always belonged. Outside, life is loud in unfamiliar languages. Inside, I learn the shape of my own silence again. The bulb light is my room is blank in that specific way new places are—polite, uninterested, waiting to decide what kind of person I will become here... And then— A...
Read more

The Unanswered Ring: Returning to Decision to Leave

Some films don’t scream.They breathe. Softly. Like someone lying next to you who doesn’t dare touch you. “Decision to Leave” wasn’t a thriller to me. It was a letter never sent.A wave that crashed but never reached the shore. I watched Seo-rae fold her silences like laundry. Every movement quiet, every word a disguise. And yet—every glance, a plea: “See me. Even if you don’t believe me.” And Hae-jun— he didn’t fall from a mountain.He dissolved, little by little, like a man walking into the sea,telling himself it’s just water. The film didn’t ask me to watch. It asked me to listen. To sighs. To footsteps. To hunger that never became desire.What kind of love is this? One that doesn’t kiss, but watches.Doesn’t hold, but follows from a distance. Doesn’t beg, but leaves quietly, hoping to be remembered...The kind that hides in plain sight. The kind that tells you,“You’re better off without me,” but still checks if you’ve eaten... A Scene I’ll Never Forget: (And perhaps, never forgive) Seo-r...
Read more
8.04.2026 Am in my late twenties..  so if you , ever ask me what this beautiful, long,tragic life taught me.. if you want me to point out a word of wisdom .. then i i will sit cross legged and tell you that, I have realized that everyone is going to hurt you. Not just once, not just in ways you can predict, but in ways that arrive quietly and stay longer than you expect. It is not always loud. It is not always something you can point out at. And it's no ones fault. People change. You change. Preferences change. Dreams change. Some people leave with reasons, with explanations that give you something to hold onto. Others leave without a word, slowly becoming unfamiliar until they are no longer there at all. And some stay, but not in the way they once did, not with the same presence, not with the same care. And somewhere in all of this, you get hurt... By people. By yourself. By everyone. By everything. Again and again and again . In different ways, but in a similar way. And weirdly e...
Read more