Poor Man's Rose Novels & Stories

The smell of smoke never left her. Even after five years, Inés still woke up coughing some nights, the phantom scent of ash curling through her dreams like a ghost refusing to rest. “Name?” the guard at the Delgado estate gate asked, his voice flat but suspicious. Inés gripped the strap of her cheap bag tighter. “Inés Montoya. I’m here for the maid position.” The man’s eyes raked over her; young, pretty, average enough not to draw attention, which was the point. He muttered something into his walkie-talkie, then motioned for her to go inside.

Everlasting Love CHAPTER 1 Rose was a very pretty girl, she was born in a very poor family and her mother was a bean cake (Akara) seller while her father was a bicycle repairer. They lived in Lagos in a one-room apartment, in a very big compound, she was the only child of her a parent who doted on her, they took good care of her and always made sure they provided her needs even though they were poor they made sure she was comfortable. Rose grew up to be a very beautiful young girl, many guys admired her because of her beauty, apart from the fact that she was beautiful she was also very intelligent, she took the first position throughout her primary school education, her parent was so proud

It must be something in the Milan air, because how is it that I've seen more attractive men in the past four days than I've seen in the few years I'd spent in New York? "That won't be necessary," I responded to both him and the bartender. The last thing I wanted was to owe a stranger anything, or better yet, accept the drink and then get reprimanded by Lorenzo or Silas. God knows I can't take any more bullshit today. It had already been a chore with Fiore on my case all day. The man's small smile didn't waver; instead, he shrugged, respecting my wishes... something most men would never do. "I see you came here with the Black Rose," he said, his fingers reaching for the glass of whiskey befor

Finally, Edward declared, "Alright, open them!" As we opened our eyes, I gasped. Before us stood a small, exquisite rosebush, its blooms a delicate shade of pink that reminded me of Hope's cheeks when she laughed. A golden plaque at its base read: "Hope's Rose - For our brightest bloom." "Oh, Edward," I breathed, tears pricking at my eyes. "It's beautiful." Christian wrapped an arm around my waist. "Grandfather, thank you." Edward beamed, gently caressing one of the rose petals. "I had it cultivated specially. It's a new variety, you see. Resilient, beautiful, and with a hint of spice in its fragrance. Rather like our little Hope, I'd say."

He laughs slightly. “No, they are a real rose.” “Mmm, never seen them before.” I roll my eyes. “Ignore that, of course, I won’t have I barely got to go anywhere.” “Daisy, even if you had the freedom to travel the world, you likely wouldn’t have seen them. It took a week to get them. They are extremely rare, had someone painted them I would be wanting blood considering the cost. They are Juliet roses.” “They are beautiful.” I thought they had painted them that colour.

Fortune smiled "thank you Dad, I love you so much" "ok darling, I will hung up now". the call got disconnected and fortune looked at Zack who was staring at her. "what's wrong? do I have something on my face?" fortune asked. Zack smiled without shifting his gaze "when you are staring at a rose flower, you can't look elsewhere, you will stay put and continue to admire it until you have the urge to pluck it"fortune chuckled, "what makes you say that?". Zack smiled "nothing, I'm just expressing myself, you are as beautiful and delicate as a rose". fortune smiled shyly and dropped her head.

She'd planted these roses, tended them with her own hands, whispered to them like they were children who might grow strong on love alone. And now this stranger was stealing pieces of her legacy like they meant nothing at all. "Magnificent, aren't they?" I said, my voice carrying just enough menace to make him freeze. "Particularly considering the season." The man—middle-aged, soft around the edges in the way of men who'd never known real hardship—jerked upright so quickly he nearly lost his balance. The rose remained clutched in his fist, thorns drawing blood from his palm that he seemed too shocked to notice.

I said. "Yes." "I planted the rose this morning," I said. "The one from the plant shop on Forty-Second. In the window box at Clara's apartment." I looked at him. "It takes two years to bloom." He looked at me steadily. "I know," he said. "I'm not rushing it," I said. "Neither am I," he said. I looked at him, at this man who had saved a climbing rose and remembered my coffee order and knocked on my office door with both hands and waited, every time, for exactly as long as was needed.

He presents a bouquet of roses. A purple rose. “You.. may leave,” he drops it at the centre table, bows and shuts the door behind my eyes fixated on the amazing gift. A purple rose is endemic situated in the north region which is the farthest and it's a journey comprising crossing over lakes and oceans to get it at the heart of the island. What can’t this man do to make me happy? “This rose is so precious and it’s fresh I must preserve it,” I say to myself swiftly getting to action, grabbing it off the table and hurrying to the garden.