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“I have plans,” Ahn Jeongwon replied to his resident’s invitation to dinner. That night, Gyeoul mustered the courage to ask her first love, only to get rejected.
Why? Does he hate me to the point that he can’t have dinner with me? Gyeoul can’t understand and she was too tired to. She has been awake for consecutive night shifts already. After seeing her professor walk away, she started retreating back to the women’s night-duty room, thinking that a cold shower is enough to forget the embarrassment and to keep her awake.
Unfortunately, Gyeoul found herself staring at the roses she bought at the start of the year. For the past months, she’s been taking care of it, cleaning the vase, and changing its water every now and then. Sometimes, she gets pricked by their thorns but she finds comfort and satisfaction, seeing the flowers bloom for a long time but for the past few weeks, the flowers haven’t been maintained by their owner. Like a flower should be, it has started to wither and brown. Every drip from her wet hair is equivalent to the petals falling down from the wilting rose.
There goes one, there’s go another. Gyeoul thought as a petal fell from the stem. The rose reminded her of him and her unrequited love. Biologically, a rose can last for seven days or more after cutting, provided that it is well-maintained and constantly taken care of. That way, it can still look beautiful even if it is bound to wither in a few days.
Jang Gyeoul broke herself from her reverie and picked up the fallen, withered petals. The roses which were once bright red have become lackluster.
Like her affection for a certain someone.
Tears rolled down her cheeks and down to her palm where the petals rest. She clenched her hand into a fist and sighed. That night, the rose witnessed Gyeoul’s frustration and whimpers. It could only watch her with pity, silently praying that it can bloom once again for her.
But it cannot.
For a dying rose cannot bloom on its own, it takes a garden for it to live again.