Springtime is when flowers bloom. And every year I will be one of the people who eagerly wait for trees to blossom, but unlike everyone, I’m not waiting for warm weather. I’m waiting to see her. She that only appears with the delicate array of papery pink blossoms of the trees.
Today she stood in the arch bridge that perfectly reflected in the water, I ignored the fact that she isn’t in it. My focus is on her, to her enchanting presence that makes everything else fade.
“This year I’ll confess,” I told myself and march with determination toward her then stumble awkwardly at her feet. I waited for her to laugh at me, but she offers me a hand and a smile more beautiful than an angel.
“Are you alright?”
“I, um,” I started nervously and went on without breathing, “I’ve been observing you since childhood, during my teens until now that I’m 20.”
“I always made sure to be here so that I can see you too,” she said in a sweet, soft voice that made me dizzy.
Courage grew stronger in my heart and the words were out before I can stop my mouth. “Please be my girlfriend!”
The chilly wind blows, shaking the trees, ruffling our hair, rustling the leaves and makes the petals rain down on us. In a languid movement, she reaches out and let the petals fall in her palms before she turns to me with pain in her eyes. “But I’m not human, I’m the spirit of this forest. I’ve lived here before you were born and will be here long after you’re gone.”
Another wind blow and in a blink of an eye, she was gone, but I felt her arms around me as she murmured “I love you and I’m sorry.”
I smiled. I’m not brokenhearted because there’s always next spring. “I’ll be here next year and the year after that, and after that until the day when you and I can be together.”
I felt her warmth left me as her voice echoed in the trees, “Then, I will be waiting here that day…”
This micro fiction is dedicated to Rupali who requested me to write a short story of her photo. And to my grandfather in the spirit world, who maybe is celebrating his birthday today.