How Does I Hope He Buys You Flowers Lyrics Enhance Angst In Stucky Slow-Burn Romance Fanfics?

She was not supposed to fall for him but she did and now she can only blame herself for feeling that way because all he ever does is giving her pain.

While shopping at the mall, a child suddenly slams into my five-month pregnant belly. Blood immediately pools on the floor. With trembling hands, I call my boyfriend, Garrett Holloway, and beg him to come get me as quickly as possible. But even after I am rushed into surgery and finally pulled back from the brink, he never shows up. But through the glass, I see him helping another woman into the hospital for a prenatal checkup. "She only stumbled a little, and her husband got so worried. He brought her to the hospital right away. Some people are just luckier than others. Not everyone gets a man who cares for them so attentively." Listening to the nurses whisper among themselves, I tighten my grip on the miscarriage report in my hand. Then, I send a message to my family. I write, "Mom, I'll go with your arrangement. I'm not marrying Garrett anymore."

I'm burning with a 104-degree fever in the middle of the night. I groggily reach out, wanting my boyfriend, Joshua Sanders, to get me a glass of water, only to feel cold sheets. I unlock my phone out of sheer habit, and the first thing I see is Joshua's message, pinned at the top of the list, sent three hours ago. "Lynnie just had her heart broken, so I'm going to keep her company. I left the antipyretics on the nightstand. Remember to take it when you wake up." I force my weak body out of bed, pour myself a glass of water, and take the medicine. However, the words on the box clearly read, "Menstrual pain relief." To make matters worse, it's the brand his childhood sweetheart, Lynn Nelson, always takes. I calmly set the medicine back in its original place and take a cab to the hospital on my own. It's time for this five-year high fever called "love" to finally break.

After my song was cut short at karaoke, I found myself back at the song selection machine. I just had to wait for 28 more songs until it would finally be my turn again. The next song was called "The Answer". My boyfriend, John Aldama, and my best friend, Selena Summers, gave each other a look of mild disdain but decided to sing the duet to prevent an awkward silence. Their voices, one cool and one sweet, complemented each other perfectly. Ever since high school, they'd been neck and neck on the honor roll, always vying for first and second place. Even after joining a top-tier company, they'd constantly bicker over projects. Even years after graduation, the people in our high school group chat were still "shipping" their "love-hate dynamic". No matter how hard I tried, I always remained the forgotten third person, an overlooked backdrop. Listening to them sing, I suddenly felt so tired. I no longer felt like singing the song that I had to wait endlessly for. I quietly deleted the song I'd selected and sent a confirmation to the email that asked me to be relocated abroad for work.

Three years into our marriage, Sean Gibson returns from every field trip with a begonia for me. I am not a plant person, but his influence rubs off on me, and against all odds, they thrive under my care. I asked him once, "Why always begonias? Why not something else?" Sean was pinching back stems. Leaves scattered across the balcony as he replied, "You remind me of them." One day, I am sorting through old boxes at home and find a scrapbook. On the title page sits a single character, B, written in his handwriting. He claims it is just a random scribble, so I don't think much of it. Right before my birthday, he asks what I want. I tell him I want a snow-capped begonia. I say I already mixed the soil and even mapped out the exact spot for it. He freezes for a second, then chuckles and says, "Okay." On my birthday, he forgets again. His phone screen lights up. "Sean, thanks for the snow-capped begonia. So, you didn't forget after all." As I look at the begonias spilling from the balcony all the way into the bedroom, a wave of mixed emotions washes over me. He didn't forget. He just gave it to his ex, whom he broke up with seven years ago. It turns out he never meant I remind him of the flower. He meant I remind him of her.

In the seventh year of singing on the streets for a living, I finally save enough money for my boyfriend, Charlie Bond, to pay for our wedding and marry me. Late at night, a young woman suddenly walks up to me and requests a song just as I'm about to pack up. She says, "I'm in a bad mood. Just sing a couple of songs for me." When she notices my disabled leg, she transfers 5,000 dollars to me right away. She adds, "I'm sorry for bothering you when it's already so late. I'm just really upset. Please take pity on me and keep me company for a while." Looking at the payment notification, I nod. With this money, Charlie won't have to struggle so much when it comes to paying rent. He won't need to deliver food in the middle of rainstorms just to make ends meet. The young woman begins pouring her heart out to me. "My husband and I have been married for five years. Today, I found out that I'm pregnant. I wanted to share the good news with him, but then I found a diamond ring in his pocket! "No matter how much I question him, he refuses to say anything. I got so angry at him that I ran out of my home. Do you think he's cheating on me?" I hesitate and am just about to comfort her when her phone suddenly rings. A man's voice comes through the speaker. It sounds helpless yet affectionate. He says, "You're so silly. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. The ring is a custom-made gift for you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but you found it before I could give it to you. Where are you? I'll come pick you up." The moment I hear that familiar voice, a chill runs down my spine. The name displayed on her phone is the exact same name as my boyfriend's—Charlie Bond.