White Rose

It's been years since the last time I like her. We were in high school. We were classmates. I didn't know if she liked me too, but I didn't have the slightest courage to tell her what I was feeling. She then went overseas to pursue her study, while I started my working life as a pizza delivery boy for the fact that I didn't do well enough to get into the university.

We frequently write emails to each other. Every week, I write to her once, without fail. She is kinda busy. I understand that. But she does reply my emails. Every year, without fail, she sends me a message on my birthday. Maybe she likes me, or perhaps she just treats me as a friend. But I still likes her. She hasn't come back since the day she left. I guess she's enjoying her new life there. I hope she won't forget me. I still like her very much, but how come I didn't have the courage to tell her about this.

Finally she wrote to me that she's coming back next month. I'm very excited, yet very nervous to meet her. I'm going to surprise her at the airport, I tell myself.

On the day itself, I dress nicely, ride my motorbike to a florist, and buy a rose. I choose the white one as she told me she likes the pure feeling of white rose. I feel very nervous while waiting for her arrival at the gate. Never before I feel my heart beating so loudly that I think the man beside me can hear its sound.

The plane has landed, and here she is. I see her waiting for her baggage. She doesn't know I'm here. Will she be surprised? Will she be glad to see me?

A tall guy is standing beside her, holding her hand tight. They were talking to each other. Then he kissed her.

I know then it's too late.

She walks pass me. She didn't notice me. I didn't call her.

I let my love wither like the petals of the white rose wither in loneliness.