OUR ROSY TALE - A SHORT STORY

“How did you know I was the one for you?” he asked curiously for the hundredth time. 

“It’s just... I just knew it from here,” I gave him the same answer as always, gently tapping my chest and sipping on my sparkling rose lemonade. It tasted heavenly, as always. 

 

It’s been our ritual to order the “rose melange” at the Cafe des Fleurs for every anniversary, a concoction of rose petals, lemon zests, mint, ginger, salt, sugar and soda. The nostalgic smell of rose wafting through the air is enough to reminisce about the events of our momentous day. We always have it with a serving of flaming hot marinara pasta for me and a strawberry eclair for him. It has always been this way. In our relationship, I am the spice, and he is the sweet. Things wouldn’t have worked between us otherwise. 

 

That was how I met him here first. I was having a bad day and was sulking at my seat, alone and staring out the window with my plain lemon mojito in hand. I didn’t notice when he sat opposite me, staring into my sleep-deprived soul. 

 

“What are you writing, if I may ask?” He had asked. I was startled and pulled myself out of the maze in my head.

“Umm… but you are?” I asked. I was miffed.

“Sorry, I am Tarun. And you?” He waited a flash second before starting again without minding my sombre mood. 

“Anyways! I thought you were having a bad day, and I might just have the perfect solution to offer.” He said, smiling. Though human company was not what I desired then, something about him kept me from chasing him away.

“And what would that be?” I asked, intrigued.

“Umm... why don’t we start by getting to know your problem first?” 

I hesitated momentarily, but what could have gone wrong with sharing my problems with a stranger besides not finishing my manuscript on time? I had nothing to lose anyway.

“I…. I have a deadline, which is in two days. And my story is incomplete.” I said, sulking.

“I get it. But you know what?” He asked, and something about it was so soothing. “Some stories are beautiful that way. Incomplete and meaningful. Maybe you might get to finish it soon. But today, first, you should try the rose melange from here. I know it can’t fix your problem. But it sure will make your day. It has always done it for me.” He winked. 

 

Tarun left, and the order came shortly. I took a sip and could feel the burst of flavours in my mouth. The sky suddenly turned purple from grey, and the sea appeared a hue of pink. I was probably intoxicated with the rose tonic. 

 

That day, I wrote a few more pages. Though I still couldn’t meet the deadline, I was very content with the story that came to life later that evening. It couldn’t have been any better. The story went on to win accolades, and suddenly, I was more famous than the night before. I knew I owed it to Tarun.

 

I couldn’t get Tarun out of my mind. I returned to the cafe looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found. Who was he? And how did he spot me on a random day and choose to make it better? Tarun was all I knew about him and nothing else. Every time I passed by the cafe, I was reminded of him. Every time I heard or smelt of rose, I longed to see him again. I didn’t know what it was. Was I in love? Probably not. Was I attracted to him? Maybe. Did I want to spend some more time with him? Absolutely, yes. Seeing me looking around for him, one of the workers approached me and told me where I could find him. 

 

“He will be around the flower shop two lanes from here. He is doing some kind of a project on floral scents.” He said. 

A person working on flowers and scents. Perfect! I thought. I bought an exotic rose perfume in gratitude and met Tarun the same day. Then, we met every single day until we realised we had fallen for each other. I proposed to him ten months later in the same floral shop with a bouquet of roses. Our love story started with everything rosy. And so, we celebrate every anniversary with all things roses from then on. And today, he really overused his perfume. I could smell him coming from a few miles ahead. I knew he wouldn’t miss our date. It’s our tenth anniversary, after all. But, I still doubt if he can ever love me more than I do.

When I told her my name, she didn’t even bother to tell me hers. But I already knew. 

 

She came to the cafe every weekend. I was doing a small project in a flower shop nearby. I was always intrigued by how she sat alone and kept writing on her own. She would sit for a few hours, write, sip on her drinks and leave. But that day, she was lost. She looked sad, and I didn’t want to see her that way. I wanted to cheer her up. So I went to her and started a conversation. I didn’t dare to tell her I liked her, so I said a few dumb things. I suggested she have the rose melange because the drink was also part of my dismal days. It had always delighted me when I was lost. But I didn’t really think it would make her come in search of me. I couldn’t meet her after that day because I had to visit my doctor for my follow-up. When I finally returned, she was already waiting for me.

 

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Her face was lit up when she presented me with the luxurious perfume. She said her story had worked because of me. She asked me to open it and smell it. “It will be heavenly. You will love it.” She said. I agreed, too. Since then, she has gifted me various editions of the luxury rose perfume on every anniversary. I guess it must be really heavenly if she is so persistent. I wish I could smell it, too. When she proposed, I didn’t have the courage to admit that I suffer from selective congenital hyposmia and can’t really appreciate faint smells, especially roses. I couldn’t tell her that my research was an act of self learning to improve my olfaction. But I accepted the bouquet and quietly entered into her world of flowers, sparkles and scents. And ever since, I have always believed that roses smell just like her.

 

 

#penbooksandscalpel

This is a part of #BlogchatterBloghop  for the prompt M(c)ocktails and fragrances.