TMB Prompt 11: Flowerpot

Too long to be a drabble.


He stepped past her mother, face flushed with guilt at the accusing look in her eyes.

He stepped through the open door to her room after knocking lightly and immediately shoved his gift into her hands.

"A flowerpot?" she laughed disbelievingly, her voice still hoarse and rough from crying.

"Well, yeah," he replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head in slight embarrassment. "See," he took a step forward, slowing when he noted her weary gaze examining him. He hesitantly placed a hand over hers as she held fast to the pottery, pretending not to notice how her grip tightened, "it's still a baby – like us, like our relationship.

"But if we take the time to care for it -water it, give it light, talk to it- then, then it'll be strong when it grows." He chanced a glance at her before looking away.

"Who came up with this?" she demanded when she finally did speak.

Surprised, he met her eyes, "I did."

"By yourself?" she pushed further.

"By myself," he confirmed.

She was silent again, staring at the pot of dirt sandwiched between their hands. "What kind of seed's in here?" she questioned, seemingly more calm.

"Sunflower," he smiled slightly when she looked at him curiously. "It needs attention, light, to grow properly. So we never forget about each other. I have one too," he explained quickly.

"Oh."

"Oh," he echoed softly, finally dropping his hands and taking a step back. That same drained expression was back in her eyes. "I-um, I think I should go. Call you later?"

She watched him quietly, her lips tugging into a small smile only after he'd left the room.

He said a hasty goodbye to her mother and let himself out.

He'd strode halfway down the block when he finally stopped himself.

A flowerpot?

What the hell had he been thinking?

It wasn't even a nice one, or her favorite color, just that boring standard baked red color.

And he'd gotten the most common flower (the first one) he could think of.

What if she hated sunflowers?

After convincing himself that it was too late to do anything about it now, he started walking again, stopping only when his cell phone vibrated with a message.

It opened to a picture and he laughed, relieved.

She knelt next to her desk, lips pressed to the flowerpot lightly, both of them bathed in sunlight.

Don't let yours die, he read at the bottom of the message.

He sent back a single word and took off again.

He knew they both realized that nothing last forever.

But some things, like flowers, like love, would bloom again and again in time.