Unbloomed Flowers Novels & Stories

“It’s a bit temperamental and difficult to grow. It needs the right conditions—particular soil, the right amount of sunlight, and careful watering. But when it’s in full bloom, it’s stunning.” I paused for a moment, letting the words settle between us. Alexander didn’t look like he was in a hurry, so I decided to continue. “This flower," I said, carefully examining the bloom, "has a unique characteristic. The petals are dark, almost black at the edges, but the deeper hues of purple are rich and vibrant. It’s called the Midnight Flame because, in the right light, it glows, almost like it’s alive with passion.” I took a breath and let the calm of the garden surround us. “It’s also known for it

They really didn't do anything this time! "At your age, what nonsense is going through your head?" Oliver scolded Grandpa Parker with no mercy. Grandpa Parker laughed heartily and pushed open the door, leading the two inside. He enjoyed teasing the young people. Such a rare and fleeting sight, an ephemeral flower. Even Charles followed suit. The four of them gathered around the flower buds of the Night Blooming Cereus, waiting patiently. Time passed. The outermost sepals gradually unfolded, followed by layers of petals blooming. Under the white halo, the petals were crystal clear, with a hint of light blue, revealing a paler pink pistil inside.

Luke slid into his car but did not start it, instead rolling down the window and started to smoke. The pack was nearly empty, but his craving burned strong.

she said. After that, Suri headed to the rose garden. It was May. Full bloom. She told the gardener to cut every single rose and send them to Julie. "But Mrs. Jerkinson, aren't these your favorites? You usually just take a few. You sure you want them all gone?" "Yeah." She parked herself on a bench and watched them work all day—snipping, clearing, loading up the truck. By sunset, the sky was streaked in pink and purple. Suri grabbed a torch and lit the leftovers on fire.

"Something came up at work. Wait for me at home, I'll be back early." I didn't call him out on it. After he left, I accepted Mabel's friend request. Her latest post was a photo of a sea of roses with the caption. "My love planted my favorite roses with his own hands." My chest tightened. So, even the roses weren't planted for me. Before we got married, he had promised to give me a field of roses all my own. But he was always busy, and I'd never brought it up again. He suddenly prepared a sea of roses because someone else wanted it.

She still felt somewhat worried. In the Turner family garden, vast stretches of red roses were in full bloom. Due to special cultivation techniques, these roses grew like they were on trees. There was a small path between each tree, and as people walked through, the faint fragrance of the flowers would stick to them, leaving them in a relaxed and peaceful mood.

The color is pristine and alluring, and it stands for an everlasting love combined with the desire to spend the rest of one's life by the side of the person one loves. She stopped moving as she stared at the violet flowers for a moment before reaching out to gently touch the individual petals. These trees clearly have a bewitching beauty, but their owners keep them in a closed space, so they do not allow other people the opportunity to enjoy that beauty. The beauty of these purple flowers is being wasted on those who cannot appreciate it. What a shame, because these flowers are exactly the same as she is.

I couldn’t let her die for me, I wasn’t worth someone else’s life. Hastily scanning my surroundings, my fingers trembling as I pull out the lighter from my pocket. My pulse quickened, echoing loudly in my ears. Searching for dried flowers, they were more flammable compared to fresh flowers that contained more water. This garden was well-maintained, which meant that every bed of flowers was fresh and vibrant. Shifting my gaze to the forest, squinting towards the tree with ripples of bark and below was a bed of dried roses, stretching to lavender and finally a dried bush.

A dangerous feeling for someone like me. When I reached my office, I unlocked the door and pushed it open and froze. A bouquet sat on my desk. Not roses, not lilies, not anything grand or pretentious. Wildflowers. Soft purples and blues. Tiny white blossoms with frayed, delicate petals. The kind of flowers that grew where no one bothered to look. Beautiful, quiet, resilient. My breath left me in one quick exhale. A small card rested in front of them. My fingers trembled as I picked it up.

Said with my eye for fashion, I shouldn't throw away my shot to grow. The email sat there in my inbox, like the one bright spot in all this mess. *** I drove back to my small rented apartment. Not big, but clean, quiet—mine. I turned off my phone, peeled off the heavy wedding dress, and washed the makeup off my face.