Chapter 12: Chapter 12: My Favorite Day II.

"I remember that day well. I hadn’t been able to sleep all night. Maybe a few hours, maybe three, maybe less," I said, closing my eyes. "I just kept thinking about her tears while one question bounced around in my mind: why didn’t she squeeze my hand."

When I closed my eyes I saw her, and I didn’t like that. "Why are you still here?" I asked myself, remembering her pupils — how the last thing she saw was me.

For some reason it hurt, something new, absurd for my body. "Blaming yourself for something you didn’t do is pointless," I told myself, squeezing my hands. "Get up, Ryne — I need you to."

"I haven’t wanted to get up," I answered. "I don’t want to hurt anyone else."

My hands pressed into the bed, pushing me upright, seeing myself in the reflection on the floor. "You didn’t hurt anyone," I answered, stroking my own head. "Don’t blame yourself for that — and enjoy my gift." I smiled. "You’re the part that he and the world love."

I looked at myself a moment longer, without moving.

"If you can’t, let me help you," she said, lifting me up while I closed my eyes. "I’ll get you ready to claim our happiness."

My words bounced around my skull, trying to sound louder than the noise around me. I had gotten ready early. Too early. So early that I had to redo my hair, since lying down had flattened it.

I had been sitting on the bed since five in the morning watching the clock, waiting for the hours to move.

"I want to be loved more," I told myself when choosing my outfit. It was practically the same as yesterday, just with a few small changes. "I hope I don’t get cold," I whispered, looking at my leg.

I only had one stocking left — I had accidentally torn the other. But what truly called for my caution was my torso.

I took my sweater. I had washed it for half an hour before going to sleep. The smell of blood isn’t pleasant for most people; there’s no other reason. "Since getting blood out is no easy thing."

I looked at myself in the mirror, lit by the warm light.

"Without the shirt I’ll get cold," I murmured, thinking about the new Nolan. Maybe he’d like this — seeing me without a shirt or a neckline, the way he liked her. "It’ll be my new stain, to make me more yours."

I looked at myself one last time, adjusting the sweater slipping off my shoulder. I wasn’t the white figure of yesterday — the canvas had been painted a little purple. "I’m going to do it on my own," I told my reflection. "Today will be the day I help him — the day I fulfill my role."

I nodded, leaving at nine twenty as we had agreed.

Nolan was waiting at the usual corner, leaning against his car with his hands in his pockets. It was the pose he called his cool guy stance.

"Trying to look like you’re in a movie again?"

"What? Is it bad to try to look good for my girlfriend?" he answered with a smile, pulling a white tulip from behind his back. "For you, my beautiful lady — shy like your figure, white like your beauty."

My eyes opened a little wider as I took it with two fingers.

Tulips have always seemed like very foolish flowers to me. Not for their shape, which is perfect. What I don’t like is their nature.

Their lack of thorns makes them weak, but that’s what makes them more loved.

I stopped for a second, looking directly at him.

"What?" he asked, with a half-smile. "You didn’t like it?"

"It’s not that, Nolan," I said, while my fingers searched along the stem for any trace of a possible defense. "It’s just that I’d like a purple tulip more."

"But you liked it last year," he pointed out. "What changed?"

"I don’t know. I think I discovered that purple has a better flavor," I laughed.

"You eat them?!" he asked, eyes wide.

"Only if they’re good," I clarified, looking at the car. "Shall we go?"

He smiled, opening the door for me and giving a half-bow. "With pleasure."

I got in. His car, as on every anniversary, clean to the point of squeaking. The seats smelled of his woody cologne and market soap.

He started the car — I felt its soft purr.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"It’s a surprise," he said, starting to move.

I turned to look at him, his smile already in place. "Nolan, you know I hate surprises."

He nodded. "That’s exactly why I planned this one three weeks in advance," he smiled. "To show you that you can love them."

I looked at him.

"That’s the most romantic thing you’ve said to me in two years."

The first stop was a flower market, tucked away on a street I had never crossed.

"Mr. Arrit told me they sell the best flowers here," he took my hand. "That his wife used to come every Thursday. I would have loved to see the arrangements she made."

"What a lovely place," I smiled, remembering the flower catalog I had read at the airport. "I read a flower catalog a long time ago, so I’m an expert in them."

"Oh, really?" he took my hand. "Then I’ll ask you many things."

We walked between the stalls for forty minutes without buying anything — just looking. He pointed out flowers I didn’t recognize and I invented names for them that he pretended to believe.

"This one is called winter squash," I said, pointing to something clearly pink. "It only grows in southern Alaska in summer, and they grow inside pumpkins to protect themselves from the cold."

"How beautiful," he laughed. "It looks lovelier than the dragon tongue bouquet," he said, surely remembering the dried chilies I had named that.

"And this is swamp rind, from the lake soup family," I held a daisy up to him. "Only frogs can care for them by eating fireflies."

"You know this one too? Are you sure you didn’t want to be a botanist?"

"Nolan, this is clearly a common daisy."

He smiled, taking the daisy from my fingers, smelling it. "I know, but it’s more beautiful when you give it a name," he brought it toward me. "When you do that they get happy and smell more beautiful."

I blushed, making myself a little small at his words.

He pulled three bills from his pocket. "Ma’am, could I have these three?" he pointed.

"What are you doing — dragon tongue is clearly a dried chili at an inflated price."

"Don’t offend dragon tongue," he answered. "Can’t you see how hard it is to grow on a volcano that demands so much from you just to survive and make it to a cold city?"

"That doesn’t change the fact that it’s a dried chili," I answered. "That you’re buying at an inflated price."

"Maybe that’s true," he smiled. "But dragon tongue sounds better — it gives it more value." He caught another vendor’s attention with his hand. "How much for the flowerpots?"

I grabbed his arm, stopping him. "What are you doing?" I asked, confused. "They’re nothing special at all."

He smiled, stroking my head with his free hand. "That’s true, they’re not," he answered. "They’re just daisies and overpriced chilies."

"Then why are you buying them pots too?"

"For your stories," he said. "To me, that gives them value." His words froze me for a moment as I watched him pay with a smile. "If you put effort into something, it’s because it matters. And the things that matter deserve that care."

In that moment he gave me the second gift of the day: winter squash — a normal rose, but one that became special to my heart by being a gift.

"You’re impossible, Nolan," I told him, helping him with dragon tongue. "I love that stubbornness."

He bought two more sunflowers before leaving. One for me, one for him.

"I also know a few things about botany," he told me, holding his sunflower. "For example, did you know that they always look toward the sun?" he said, raising one in the air.

I nodded. "That’s basic knowledge. They do it to better receive the rays and have more chances of surviving."

"Incorrect," he said. "My mother told me the truth — in the form of a story."

I tilted my head, skeptical of his words.

We sat on the grass; he gathered all our purchases. "Many, many years ago, in a land forgotten by time, there were several species," he picked up dragon tongue. "One of them, known as dragon tongue, had a very bad temper — he never let anyone touch his food."

"His food?"

"Oh, I didn’t tell you. In this world, flowers eat," he continued. "He always guarded his food — not out of selfishness, but because there was little of it, and it was for his children."

"And what happened?"

"The days passed and dragon tongue grew older and more stubborn — each day his strength ran out faster, along with the food. The darkness of the world was not favorable to his efforts."

"And what happened?" I leaned forward, looking at the poor wrinkled chili.

"Dragon tongue saw food on the horizon — a light he hadn’t grown, something new to him." He moved the chili up and down, simulating footsteps. "When he climbed the hill he saw a pair of young sunflowers — every step they took left traces of life."

"I imagine they were legendary divine messengers, tasked with saving the world."

"Yes and no," he answered. "They were two small sunflowers — divine messengers, yes. But not heroes. Just two flowers that loved each other very much."

"And what were they doing?"

I looked at the sunflower between his fingers.

"Dragon tongue watched them from his hill," he continued, walking the dried chili with his fingers toward the sunflower. "And for the first time in a long time, he came down."

"And did they let him approach?" I asked.

"The pair of sunflowers had no reason to refuse," he answered. "They were generous. And when dragon tongue reached them, they looked at him without fear."

"They just looked at him."

"They just looked at him," he repeated. "And that was enough. They saw his wrinkles, they saw his sadness, they saw his need. They understood in that moment something important: the value of life in the world they didn’t know. They... umm, they did..."

"Are you sure this is a real story, Nolan? Or are you making it up."

He scratched the back of his neck with a closed-eyed smile. "Honestly I’m making it up — I don’t know how to continue," he laughed, letting it all go. "I think I’d need to write an entire novel to describe the adventures of the legendary sunflower couple."

I took winter squash, bringing it close to the sunflowers. "And after defeating the darkness," I said, making my voice as deep as I could, "the sunflowers rewarded winter squash for her help in sheltering the sick, naming her the guardian of Alaska."

Nolan laughed, picking up the flowers again.

"And now, after several years of adventure, the sunflowers understood their reason for living. They looked at each other one last time, nodding," his voice grew softer. "Both had to fulfill their destiny."

"And what was it?" I interrupted, genuinely curious.

"Both spat out a seed, entrusting them to old dragon tongue — their father in this world — and with an embrace they said goodbye. Dragon tongue didn’t understand why, but they began to rise, becoming light."

He paused for a minute, looking at the grass where we sat.

"That’s why dragon tongue taught the sunflowers to always look toward their parents — to greet them every day and give thanks for the light they give as a show of love."

"That’s why sunflowers look at them," I agreed. "What a lovely story. I didn’t know you liked telling stories." 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"I’m good at making them up," he declared. "When my source of inspiration is the world’s best botanist."

"I knew it!" I interrupted. "I knew your mother didn’t know dragon tongue or winter squash."

"And I’m the impossible one," Nolan protested. "Yes, I lied to you, but you can’t deny it’s a lovely story." With a sweet smile he lay back on the grass, looking up at the sun. "You’ll tell the sequel someday."

I smiled, joining him in that simple act, the two of us looking up together at that pair of sunflowers in the sky.

"Now we’re like a pair of sunflowers, looking at our parents," said Nolan, taking my hand.

"Don’t say that, Nolan," I corrected, lying against his chest. "I’m a descendant of dragon tongue."

We both stayed a moment longer in the light, freezing time — five, maybe ten minutes — enjoying the first stop.