"The rosy flower depicts love. It isn't flawless, it has its thorns; it may prickle the hands, yet somehow it stands as a testament that love isn't something seen (just like the beauty of a rose) but is that's something felt (just like the sharp pain from a rose's thorns).
A person's eyes does not define one's value. The heart does." -Sol, Roses.
Start. Candy grabs the third letter. March 12, 1990. In between the letter was a hairpin depicting that of a Gladiolus flower. "A Gladiolus," Candy thought to herself. "Gladiolus typically means strength and integrity."
Candy thought that this can possibly mean something. To find the answer, she stars reading the very first parts of the letter. Unsurprisingly, the third letter was also entitled Gladiolus. Without hesitation, Candy then continues reading the rest of the letter.
G L A D I O L U S
March 12, 1990. To Eleven.
The date is February 14, 1990. Red carpets. Palatable food. Grand aesthetics. Gowns of different colors, suits of different flavors. Everyone is dolled up to meet their partners. Music starts playing. The crowds sway to the music's rhythm.
I looked around. I saw a lot of familiar faces, but I was looking for you. Then, on the corner near the cheese fondue fountain and the bed of roses, I saw you talking with someone.
You're talking to someone.
You're talking.
Talking with Bonn.
A shift to Eleven's point of view from this point in the story onward until said otherwise.
I arrived quite early. Too early, actually. When I arrived not one that I know of has arrived yet. Was I too excited for this? I thought. Probably not. I mean, many people arrive early to proms, right?
Ten minutes pass. Then another ten. More and more people keep coming. All of them in their gorgeous dresses and handsome suits. Girls came with the most preposterous of hairstyles, and the thickest of makeup while the guys came as if they were bathed in perfume, with accessories that flood the body, making them look a tad bit tacky.
I was styled lightly. On my head was a Gladiolus hairpin, on my face was light makeup and my dress was a dark-violet gradient gown with black heels. I wore violet accented earrings and no necklace. My hair was not styled except for the curls on the ends. While looking at the other girls, I couldn't help but feel insecure.
Was I dressed to lightly? Was I too unprepared? Was I too conservative this time?
Thirty minutes pass. I was drinking some kind of juice in the corner when someone approached me.
"Want a muffin to go with that juice?"
It was Bonn. Bonn looked handsome as always. This time around, he is wearing a blue suit paired with white long-sleeves, with a black bow tie, together with a gold-accented watch and a nice, mild smell of men's perfume. His hair was pulled back, gelled and combed. His white long-sleeves were tucked-in under his white slacks. His shoes were black, polished to shine.
He looked super neat, not tacky nor does it give a trying-too-hard feel.
"No thanks, Bonn" I answered. "I'm on a diet, I'd get too guilty eating that. Besides, I get a tad bit messy when eating baked goods."
"Nonsense, Eleven. You look as fine as 24-karat gold."
"Thanks, Bonn."
Typical Bonn. He's always super kind. Too kind actually. I feel like he's fooling me, or spoiling me with his sweet words. Sometimes I get worried that other girls will fall in love with him just because of his sweet words.
"I'm serious though. You look so stunning that it actually hurts." Bonn chuckled.
"Stop Bonn!" I laugh. "You know, if you keep doing that, I'm going to think that you like me."
"Don't I?" Bonn asked.
It was getting serious. I could feel the tension. I don't have an idea on what to say. He looked at me intently. Seconds pass and both of us kept quiet.
"Just kidding." Bonn broke the silence. He laughed it off. Thank God, I sighed. "You thought that I was serious, didn't you? I can't—" He continued laughing his stomach out.
If that was real, how awkward would that be, I thought to myself.
"Gosh Bonn, stop doing that, really."
I mean, he really should, or I'd start to get the wrong idea.
"By the way, do you have a partner already?" He asked me. He then looks far back as if he's searching for someone. "You don't have one, right? As far as I know, no one's here." He continued.
"Um actually—"
"Actually, I'm her partner." Sol cut me off mid-sentence.
Sol looks at Bonn with fierce eyes. Is he jealous? Or am I wrong? Is it wrong for me to feel butterflies whenever I see him jealous? I thought. Looking at him, I realize something. Sol looks so freaking handsome. Describing him by the detail, I'd say he is wearing a maroon tuxedo, with black longs-sleeves underneath and a suit chain on the pocket of his maroon tuxedo near his left breast area.
On his left hand he is wearing a silver watch, his hair pulled up, his shoes shined to a tee, and gosh does he look like some beverage.
"You're his partner?" Bonn asked me.
"Yeah, he is." I replied.
"Okay, I'm going to leave you two alone now." Bonn says, in a rushed manner.
Bonn walks away. Upbeat music stops playing. Que in romantic music. Then, on the stage, the moderators announced to everyone that it's haven hour, just another synonym for a romantic dance. Everyone starts grabbing their partners. Suddenly, Sol offers me his hands.
"Can I fancy you to a dance?" he asks me.