Sad flower

The small wooden house stood on the edge of the forest, cloaked in silence. It was a house filled with memories—laughter that once echoed through its walls, the faint smell of Omar’s cologne still lingering in the air, and the faint trace of Layla’s tears on the windowpane.

Inside, Layla sat by the window, staring at the rain as it streaked down the glass. Her hands trembled as she unfolded a piece of paper she had read so many times that the edges were frayed, the ink slightly smudged from her tears

It was a letter from her husband, Omar, written three years ago, just days before he left for a volunteer mission in a war-torn country. His words were as vivid in her mind as the moment she first read them

My dearest Layla,

If you’re reading this, it means I’ve gone somewhere far, but my heart is always with you. I’ll be back before you know it, and when I return, we’ll finally build that garden we always dreamed of. Stay strong for me, my love. Yours forever, Omar.

She remembered how she had smiled when she first read it, clutching the letter to her chest, her heart full of hope. He had promised her he would return, but Omar never came back

The day she learned of his death felt like a nightmare she could never wake up from. She had been in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup, when there was a knock at the door. Two officials stood there, their faces heavy with sorrow

Mrs. Layla,” one of them began, his voice hesitant. “We regret to inform you

The rest of the words were a blur. Convoy. Attack. Hero. Missing in action

They handed her a box containing Omar’s personal belongings: his watch, a small notebook filled with his scribbled thoughts, and a scarf she had knitted for him. She clutched the box to her chest, her world collapsing around her.

Days turned into weeks, and Layla drifted through life like a ghost. The vibrant woman who once danced in the kitchen and hummed Omar’s favorite songs had vanished. In her place was a shadow, a woman who spoke only in whispers and moved as though carrying the weight of the world.

It was during one of these silent, lonely days that Layla remembered the garden Omar had written about. She decided to honor his memory by planting it. She dug into the earth with her bare hands, tears streaming down her face as she planted roses, daisies, and marigolds—Omar’s favorite flowers.

Every morning, she watered the garden, talking to the plants as if Omar could hear her through them.

I miss you,” she would whisper. “Are you proud of me? I hope the garden makes you smile, wherever you are.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Layla noticed something unusual. Among the sea of crimson roses, a single white rose had bloomed. It stood tall and radiant, its petals shimmering in the twilight

Layla knelt beside it, her heart pounding. She reached out to touch the delicate petals, and for the first time in years, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. It was as if Omar himself had sent her a message, a sign that he was still with her in spirit

That night, Layla sat at her small writing desk. The white rose rested in a vase beside her as she began to write a letter to Omar

My dearest Omar,

I’ve waited for you every day. I planted our garden, just as we planned, and it’s beautiful. But the world feels empty without you. I still hear your laughter in the wind, and I see your face in my dreams. You promised you’d come back, and I know, in some way, you did. I’ll love you forever. Yours, always, Layla.

She folded the letter and placed it under the vase with the white rose. That night, she fell asleep in her favorite chair by the window, Omar’s last letter clutched to her chest

When morning came, the house was quiet, too quiet. The neighbors noticed the stillness and grew concerned. When they entered, they found Layla in her chair, a serene smile on her face. She looked as though she had simply drifted off to sleep, but she would never wake again

In her hands was Omar’s letter, and beside her, the white rose bloomed as brightly as ever

The townsfolk buried her in the garden she had so lovingly tended, next to the flowers that symbolized her love for Omar. As they laid her to rest, a gentle breeze swept through the garden, carrying the faint scent of roses and something else—a warmth, a presence, as though Omar was finally home

The white rose remained in bloom, standing tall and proud among the vibrant red flowers, a symbol of a love that death could never diminish