| Charmila M Sankar | Flash Fiction | July 2025 |
When I inhaled the exquisite scent of the lilies I held, I was transported to the days when we used to sneak out past curfew. Lilies were always my parting gift. With the excitement and thrill of young love, our romance was confined to sharing a chocolate cake from the only bakery that would be open. I closed my eyes and tried to step into the shoes of the girl I once was, how innocent and happy she was.
I swung the door open and was immediately hit by the scent of roasted coffee beans and vanilla. The door hit the bell and closed behind me. I noticed how the thick glass windows blocked the outside hustle and bustle completely. But, a few hushed tones, like the whizz of the milk frother and pans tossed on the stove, kept the place lively.
Most of the window seats were occupied by people working on their laptops, and I highly doubted any one of them would even turn if a China bowl dropped on the floor. I gazed at the marvel and beauty that once was our spot. With intricate wooden designs on the ceiling, the place had transformed dramatically from a mere roadside bakery. While my hand glided over the rosewood tables, my eyes wandered in search of him.
A woman beside a child with a zebra balloon bent down to pick something up, and then I saw him. Suppressing the smile that found its way to my lips, I walked up to him and slid into the leather seat opposite. His eyes widened with a glint. I knew he would remember. He was always the one who would keep track of everything, even when I forgot. He waved his finger to point to the pink dress I was wearing, his engagement gift to me.
“It still fits,” he said, and I handed him the lilies, hoping the flowers would convey everything I wanted to put into words. He blushed, and that was enough of an answer for me.
“Yes, I totally did not have to do two weeks of dieting to fit into this,” I sniggered.
“So, how hard was it to sneak out?” he asked with a playful whisper.
“Not as hard as before.” My fingers unwittingly touched the part of my knee I scraped years before while climbing over my hostel wall.
I scanned the surroundings. “I love what they have done with this place.”
He shrugged. “It’s beautiful, but it’s not the same. The warm and cosy feel I always got from this place is missing.”
“At first, I was heartbroken to hear that they tore down the place. But then, change is inevitable, right? It challenges us to step out of the bubble and teaches us to embrace new things.”
“At least they have the same Buddha statue.”
“Really?” My voice went to a high pitch. He took my hand and led me to a spot on the corner to show our favourite Buddha statue, which had received a fresh coat of paint. “Should I rub his tummy and see if he grants my wishes?”
“I thought your wishes were granted.”
“A girl can have many wishes, you know.” I shrugged and smiled.
Sensing a signal, he took me back to the table. With music and cheer, a few waiters brought out the cake with sparklers and the number ‘20’ in bold and bright red.
As the waiters left with a bow, I asked, ‘Has it really been twenty years?”
“Time flies when you are having fun,” he said with a sheepish smile.
I held his hand and whispered, “Time flies when you’re with the right person.”
Away from our humdrum lives and daily duties as a man and wife, we were there just as two people in love.
His phone buzzed. Mouthing our son’s name, he left the table to attend to it. Realisation dawned on me that it was time to go and be responsible parents again. But there was a different kind of happiness waiting for us back at home—a party the kids had planned. The thought of the kids warmed my heart. I got up, shook off any telltale confetti that clung to me, and savoured the last few moments of our private celebration.
He tossed the car key and caught it with a smile. Sliding his hand into mine, he whispered, “We should do this more often.”
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Charmila M Sankar is a fiction writer with over a decade of experience in freelance writing. Her work has appeared in The Hindu, Kitaab, Woman’s Era, Muse India, and DoubleSpeak. She is also the author of ‘The Unwanted Boy and Other Stories.’
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Feature image by Hà Nguyễn via Unsplash
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