Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics.

I do not condone or encourage any behaviours in this story. It is simply a fictional story.

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The stained glass door led to a backyard where strawberries grew, where they used to play as children, holding hands and whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. They used to have steaming breakfasts—milk, bean soup, omelettes, pancakes, and bacon—on picnic mats under the gentle sun. She missed it. All of it. Yet she had left those days goodbyes in times out of mind. He was not for her. They were children back then. Careless. Silly. However, they had grown up from that past.

Nothing will be the same. Jinshi was the lord's son, and she was the maid's daughter. Her toes curled inside her shoes when she saw him. He looked at Maomao with that same blaze in his eyes. It was still alive, burning bright. He only ever looked at her, a wood sorrel he hand-picked from a garden where roses, tulips, and petunias grew. He was her best friend, but he saw more in her. He sought her warmth, craved all her touches, and yearned to feel her heart beating for him. It never did.

He lay on his deathbed, skin pallid, flowers sprouting out of his mouth, thorns nicking his dry lips. Maomao prayed he would stop loving her.

Did she make the wrong decision to leave the town to become an apothecary? Why is she an apothecary if she cannot save the one she cherished? She'd been through a lot in her life. They both had, and neither of them deserved this. She rested her hand on his cheek, wishing to return the passionate love. Jinshi leaned in to feel the touch, hope glowing in his gaze.

She turned her face away, wiping the tears that drenched her eyelashes. She took her things and turned to leave, but Jinshi's hold on her sleeves wouldn't allow that. "I... I can't watch this." I'm selfish. "I don't want to see you die while I sit here helpless." I'd rather kill myself than watch you die. "I have to do something... Anything!"

Jinshi looked at her longingly, lovingly. His arms went around her elbow and kept her near. "You can't save me now." We both know that.

Maomao knew this wound was not going to heal. The crickets chirped out an elegy that will remain in her memory forever. She squeezed his hand tight. While he waits to free himself tonight, they accept that he is about to leave a scar on her that time will not erase.

Maomao was going to hate December forever. If only she knew the right words to make him feel better. But here she was, a hopeless woman who didn't know what to do or how to act. The candles around them flickered and popped, golden light washing over their frames.

"Before you go," Her lips trembled before the whisper. "let me give you something."

Her lips were the wettest, loveliest thing Jinshi had ever tasted. It was sweet like cherries, falling upon his lips like fresh dew. He grabbed the back of her neck, deepening the kiss. Her tears fell freely, soaking his skin and sweater. Unlike her, he wasn't crying. He was happy. He should be. This is all he wanted all his life, even if it was only for a fleeting second, even if it wasn't real. It was Maomao and not her illusion. That was enough, and Jinshi would die happy. His forehead met hers when they drew back, eyes boring into each other. He pulls her into a hug, his sighs filling her body in his embrace. "Thank you, Maomao. For everything."

Idiot. What's he saying? Shouldn't she be the one thanking him for lighting up her life, being her friend and making her childhood a vintage dream?

Jinshi tilted his head, coughing up red poppies, petals like blood. Once she wiped the blood dripping down his chin with a towel, he said his last wish, "I want you to take these." He gathered a bunch of flowers in his hands, extending his hands towards her. "I want you to take the seeds and plant them." His voice was soft like the clouds in the sky. "I want you to remember me." Always.

Before she could sob, Jinshi's grip on her elbow loosened alarmingly. Maomao hasted to say, "I love you," her last attempt at protecting him. Yet it was too late. The place where Jinshi lay was wreathed in earthy poppies when she opened her mouth again. He was no more. The spot was smeared in the warmth he left behind, smoke wafting from them.

She fell to her knees painfully. Her whimpers were loud, her eyes puffy and red. Her arms sprawled over the bed, searching for something she would not find. Jinshi was gone. He was not coming back.

Behind her, the door opened a chink. She had expected Ah-Duo to peer at her hatefully, but all she did was join Maomao on the floor, heaving her weight against her side. Maomao felt responsible for her grief. Why did he have to love someone like her? What sin did they make for life to punish them like this? She hated herself for not loving someone perfect like Jinshi. Maybe she was not wired for this.

What if she is incapable of loving and being loved?

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She sat on her verandah, knitting sweaters, waiting for her hair to dry. The wet fringes tickled her jaws when she tucked her chin. Maomao had taken a bath after getting home. Her hair had grown longer within a year and should be tied into a bun.

Her cat stretched its paws and splayed itself over the cosy chair by the shoe rack. The market was crowded at this time of the year. The roads were blocked, and streets bubbled with Christmas joy, but Maomao couldn't feel the same. The crowds made her feel alone. The desolation had only grown when she passed the houses flanking both sides of a flashing road, with its lively neighbourhood and its playful, forgetful children with their guiltless giggles and hide-and-seeks.

She stared into the sunset, the garden where poppies dotted the skyline. Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she heard Jinshi's voice, "Have I finally found a spot in your heart?" followed by his dulcet chuckles. She shook her head, a blush dusting her cheeks as her vision blurred. The poppies glowed in the sunset like Jinshi's mesmerizing face. They danced in the breeze and told her his story, blooming in her heart.

Maomao gripped the thread in her hands and walked to her garden barefooted.

Had she loved Jinshi all along?

The needle slipped from her fingers and punctured her skin. Blood trickled from her skin, joining the pool of poppies by her feet.

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