The Earth laughs in flowers, and so did you. Or at least, that's what he thought when he first heard your laughter tinkling from down the hallway. For some reason it reminded him of a particular memory from his childhood, one that he had always held close to his heart: that particular spring day when he first saw cherry blossoms fall. Each gust of wind had brought along with it a myriad of taffy coloured sakuras cascading down onto him and the dozens of other parkgoers, most of whom were couples. "Love is in the air," his mother sighed happily as she leaned into his father's embrace. That was years ago, but he always remembered. How could he ever forget something so beautiful? With your laughter still ringing in his ears, he locked gaze with your brown irises, and in that moment he knew he wouldn't forget you. Love was, indeed, in the air.

Gerberas were the flowers of his choice when he simply wasn't brave enough, composed enough or bold enough. They caught your eye almost immediately after you entered the room – stalks with the prettiest apricot tinted petals were bundled loosely into a bouquet of 5. Complete with craft paper wrapping tied up together with string, they sat quietly on your desk at your usual seat. You let your eyes roam the perimeter of the room in anticipation. It wasn't like you were really expecting to find anyone so early in the morning, but a small part of you still hoped to catch a glimpse of a particular set of almond shaped orbs boring straight into yours.

You recalled how you couldn't help but gasp the first time you saw them. He was standing right next to the window, sunlight cascading down onto his sharp, yet gentle features. Framed with thick lashes, his hazel irises glittered with specks of gold stolen from the sun rays, circling an eclipse that held an endless depth of raw emotion. With cheekbones carved by the gods themselves, one side of his lips curled up into a mischievous smirk, accompanied by a single dimple pressed deeply into his left cheek. Bedhair never usually flattered, but apparently he was the exception. You took art classes last semester where the professor droned on about beauty in famous art pieces. You caught none of that. In fact, you slept through almost every class. You never understood your professor's admiration and awe, that is, until that fateful day when you laid your eyes on him. Unfortunately, in present time, there were no other signs of life in the room apart from you and the bouquet you cradled fondly to your chest. Oh well, you thought. You just had to wait til class started to be sure.

9am took you by surprise when he plopped down on the seat right next to yours indifferently, and didn’t so much as spare you a single glance for the entire two hours. Your hopes would have been destroyed if not for the golden pollen stuck all over his ripped black jeans, and the sole orange petal caught on the sleeve of his shirt, informing you of his early morning romp through the gardens outside the Botany department. A grin tugged at your lips. It’s okay, two can play the game.

​

He didn’t notice the side-eye and smirk you gave him in class that day, but he did notice every other time you smiled because wow, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Now the gerberas seemed too little, too insignificant, too dull in comparison. Had you even noticed them? The moment class was dismissed, he got ready to bolt out the door. He needed to calm his heart, which had been thudding incessantly ever since he found a seat right next to yours. After all, there was only so much he could take from being so close to you for so long. You stopped him before he could even step out the door, much to the surprise of both of you. He almost choked on air when you reached out to pick off the darn stray petal he didn’t know was stuck to his sleeve and dropped it into his palm.

​

Your first real date found you in the midst of autumn. He arrived at your apartment alot earlier than he was supposed to, with a bouquet of ivory gardenias in tow. He knew he needed the extra time anyway. With one hand clutching the flowers so hard his knuckles were turning white, and his bottom lip red from all his nervous biting, he tried his best to still his racing heart. Twenty minutes and three pep talks later, he finally found the courage to ring your doorbell, right on the dot.

He didn’t say a word when he saw you, or couldn’t, so he pushed his hand forward to offer you the bouquet of gardenias. Pink hues dusted your cheeks as you took in the way his eyes sparkled in awe at the sight of you. And damn did you swoon when you heard the way his husky, baritone voice sounded when he said you looked beautiful. The rest of the night was a blur of laughs and shy touches; his arm casually hooked around your waist as he opened the restaurant door for you, his fingers toying around with yours as you both talked over dinner, his hand tenderly tucking your fringe behind your ears when a strong gust of wind blew them out of place. You felt warm in his embrace, even in the falling temperatures of the night. The bouquet of gardenias never left your side the entire time, and were only forgotten about when he kissed you on your cheek — a soft, barely-there touch that lingered even when he pulled away with rosy cheeks.

Hyacinths with petals the colour of amethyst gems greeted you after your very first fight, when you opened the door with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. His heart shattered at the sight of you looking so forlorn. Guilt ate away at him, knowing he was the cause of your pain. His hand shook as he let you hold the flowers, and you let him hold you. He apologized and apologized until he was too tired to speak, and you were too tired to hear. Neither one of you could remember what you had argued so fiercely about just now, but the sound of him raising his voice at you and slamming the doors on his way out earlier this evening still rang in your ears.

You lay your head on him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he stroked your hair delicately in between mumbles of apologies. Your go-to Spotify playlist for sad days continued playing softly in the background while you tried to clear your head and go to sleep. It had been an emotionally exhausting day, and you were worn out. Sleep begun to overtake your senses, but a slight sensation of his lips pressed against your forehead had your eyelids fluttering right open. And they opened right on time to see the look of gentle adoration in his eyes as he whispered, “I love you,” and he loved you, he loved you, and you loved him too.

​

Roses had lent him their petals as you stood at the entryway of your shared apartment, with hundreds of them littered neatly on the marbled floor to form a red carpet of sorts that led you to your bedroom. Your knuckles tapped lightly on the heavy wooden doors, signalling your presence, before you took a deep breath and pulled them open. And there he was, all dressed up, waiting for you. It wasn’t the first time you saw him in a suit, but there was something about the way his blazer hung on his broad frame, flaunting his strong shoulders that were a result of hours spent in the gym. Maybe it was the way the cute striped tie you had picked out for him on his birthday last year hung around his neck, or maybe it was just those twinkling eyes and dazzling smile and loving heart of the man himself that made you swoon.

Maybe it was all of them.

(It probably was.)

And you felt yourself swooning all over again as he listed dozens upon dozens of reasons why he loved you, with cheeks redder than the rose petals he stood on. It had taken him longer than you would imagine to actually build up enough courage to get down on one knee and fumble around with his jacket to pull out a black square box with shaking hands. The sound of his last name with your first was even more beautiful than you could have ever imagined, and your chorus of yesses were only cut short when you felt your voice crack from being overcome with emotion. You pulled him in for a tight hug, and the both of you stood there for what seemed like hours. Your warm embrace told him everything he needed to know and more as he held you in his arms and made a silent promise to never let you go.

Promises are never meant to be broken, or forgotten, and so he chose forget-me-nots. Blue forget-me-nots that match the blue skies you loved, that reminded him of the dress you wore on the first date, that resembled the same shade of blue you once dyed your hair in an act of rebellion against societal standards of beauty. Blue forget-me-nots that he arranged around your grave, that spring to life from what was once yours.

One week, two months, three years and yet he still visits, still brings you flowers, still keeps the promise he made of not letting you go. He can’t let you go. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but the pain in his chest is nothing short of the day he wept by your hospital bed. If anything, the heartache grew with each day he spent away from you, like a weed that ravaged his tiny garden of beautiful memories planted by you. He misses the way your face lights up whenever he gave you flowers. Today, it would have been your forty-fifth wedding anniversary.

​

He has given you a lot of different flowers in your lifetime; and after, he only comes with forget-me-nots whenever he visits you here. This time, however, he brought red tulips too.

After all, he still remembers — they had always been your favourite.