Blooming Anticipation
Day 31:
Freen yawned, stretching her arms overhead as the faint ache of a 15-hour flight lingered in her bones. The plane had finally taxied to a stop, and as she shuffled through the bustling airport, she slipped her phone from her pocket. Her tired eyes lit up when she saw a message from Becky waiting for her—a little spark that jolted her awake.
Bec: Good morning, baby. Hope you slept well. When you’re free, text or call me—I’ve got something to tell you. Heading to the internship now. Miss you so much.
Freen’s lips curved into a soft, unstoppable smile. That word—baby—no matter how many times Becky said it, it still sent a shiver of delight through her chest, like a secret only they shared. She hovered her thumbs over the screen, tempted to fire back something cheeky like, “Slept like a rock, except when the turbulence tried to toss me out of my seat.” But she paused, biting her lip with a grin. No, she’d save the teasing for later—when she could watch Becky’s nose scrunch up and hear that little huff of a laugh in person, she wanted to keep it as a suprise.
Instead, she tapped out, “Hey, baby. We’ll talk soon, promise. Have the best day.” Short, sweet, and just enough to keep her own excitement simmering. She hit send and tucked the phone away, her heart doing a tiny, happy flip.
The airport buzzed around her, but Freen barely noticed, her mind already racing ahead. A Thai man in his mid-thirties approached, holding a small sign that read, “Miss Freen.”
“Sawadee ka,” she greeted warmly, offering a polite wai and a smile that crinkled her eyes. He introduced himself as Tom, a local Saint had arranged to assist her during her stay.
“Welcome to England!” Tom said with a friendly nod. “Long flight, huh? Want to head straight to the hotel to rest?”
Freen shook her head, a spark of determination flickering in her sleepy gaze. “Actually… could you take me to a flower shop first? Somewhere with really beautiful red roses.”
Tom blinked, caught off guard, but his face softened with an understanding smile. “Red roses, huh? Special occasion?”
“Something like that,” Freen replied, her voice light but her cheeks warming as she ducked her head.
“Of course. I know the perfect spot,” Tom said, gesturing toward the exit.
As they stepped outside, the cool air brushed against her skin, and Freen’s pulse quickened. She could already picture it—Becky seeing her in person, her big, curious eyes widening at the sight of the roses, that shy, surprised smile breaking across her face. Maybe she’d tilt her head just so, her brows knitting together in that adorable way she did when she was trying to process something unexpected. Freen could almost hear the soft, “Oh, Freen…” that would slip out, laced with that quiet wonder she loved so much.
“Get a grip,” she mumbled under her breath, fighting back a giddy laugh as she slid into the car. She was jet-lagged, sure, but the thought of seeing Becky after so long had her buzzing like she’d downed three cups of coffee. Her fingers drummed lightly on her knee, restless with anticipation.
The city rolled by outside the window—gray skies, unfamiliar streets, a soft drizzle dotting the glass—but to Freen, it all felt alive, glowing with possibility. She leaned her head against the seat, letting her mind wander. She imagined Becky’s reaction down to the tiniest details: the way her fingers would brush the petals, hesitant at first, before her cheeks flushed that perfect shade of pink. Maybe she’d look up at Freen with those warm, sparkling eyes and say something sweet—something that’d make Freen want to pull her close and never let go.
A quiet hum slipped from her lips, a little melody she didn’t even realize she was singing. The roses were just the beginning—she couldn’t wait to see Becky’s face, to feel the weight of her in her arms, to hear her voice without the crackle of a phone line. Every mile the car carried her closer felt like a countdown to something magical, and Freen’s heart swelled with the sweetness of it all.
The flower shop was a riot of life, a sanctuary of scent and color that assaulted Freen’s senses as she stepped inside. Her eyes landed on a bouquet of red roses—crimson as fresh blood, their petals unfurling like a lover’s desperate plea. She reached for them, her fingers trembling as they brushed the velvety blooms. “These,” she whispered to the florist, her voice raw with emotion. “These are the ones.” The bouquet was swathed in stark white paper, tied with a ribbon that seemed too fragile for the weight of her hopes.
She turned to Tom, who stood by the door, his silhouette framed against the gray daylight. “Take me to Becky’s internship office,” she said, her words quivering with urgency as she fumbled with her phone to send him the address. “I know she’s there. I need to see her.”
Tom’s eyes glinted with understanding. “Hold on tight,” he said, and the car roared to life, slicing through the city like a blade through silk.
Freen clutched the roses to her chest, their thorns pricking through the paper, a faint sting she barely noticed. The scent enveloped her, intoxicating and cruel, a reminder of what she stood to lose.
She fired off messages. To Mama Nun: “I’m here. Roses in hand. Going to Becky—pray for me ma.” To Nam: “Landed. Flowers. Her office. I’m a wreck.” To Saint: “Made it to England. Thanks for Tom, He’s driving me to Bec.”
Her phone erupted with replies, each one a jolt to her fraying nerves.
Mama Nun: “My brave girl! She’ll melt when she sees you, have fun and call me when you are free!”
Nam: “FREEN, YOU MADWOMAN! This is epic—don’t you dare back out!”
Saint: “Good to hear that Nong, have a good time and feel free to contact me if you need anything.”
Their words were a lifeline, pulling her forward as her heart thundered, wild and untamed.
The car screeched to a halt outside a towering office building, its glass walls reflecting a sky bruised with clouds. Freen stumbled out, the roses a lifeline in her grip, her hair whipping in the wind. “Thank you, Tom,” she choked out, her voice nearly lost to the storm brewing inside her. He nodded, a silent sentinel, as she staggered toward the entrance, every step a battle against the fear clawing at her throat.
The lobby was a hushed space of glass and polished floors, its stillness amplifying the nervous hum in Freen’s chest as she stepped inside. The bouquet of red roses rested in her arms, their vivid petals a tender weight against the crisp paper, the faint sting of thorns a quiet anchor. She drew a shaky breath and approached the reception desk, offering a tentative smile. “Hi, could you tell Becky Armstrong that a friend from Thailand is here to see her? I want it to be a surprise.”
The receptionist glanced up, her expression polite but expectant. “We need a name to pass along.”
Freen paused, then leaned closer, her voice dropping. “I’m Freen, but please don’t say that—just tell her it’s a friend from Thailand. I’d love to catch her off guard.”
The receptionist gave a small nod, a flicker of amusement in her eyes as she reached for the phone. “Got it, I’ll keep it a mystery,” she said, dialing as Freen stepped back, her heart picking up speed. Her gaze roamed the room, a blend of anticipation and jitters simmering within her. Then she saw her—Becky, emerging from a hallway, looking weary. Her hair was slightly tousled, her shoulders drooping, but to Freen, she was a soft glow in the muted light. Freen’s breath hitched, her fingers curling tighter around the roses as a smile tugged at her lips—until someone else stepped into view behind Becky.
Kirt. He hovered near her, a persistent shadow. He was speaking to Becky in Thai, his voice low but steady as he kept up with her tired stride. “Becky, come eat with me,” he said, his tone carrying a gentle push. “It doesn’t have to be much—just us like always.”
Becky shook her head, her reply in Thai quiet and worn. “Kirt, I’m tired. With everything happening, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go out, just the two of us.”
Kirt’s expression tightened, and he reached out as she moved forward, his hand catching hers. His fingers wrapped around hers gently, stopping her in her tracks. “Hey, don’t pull away,” he said, his voice gaining a slight edge.
Becky tugged back, her tone firming up a bit, still in Thai. “Kirt, let go,” she said, a trace of frustration threading through her exhaustion as she tried to free her hand.
He held on for a moment, his words calm but insistent. “We shouldn’t let other people decide how we are,” he said, his grip loosening as he looked at her with quiet intensity.
Freen’s eyes zeroed in on Kirt’s hand clasping Becky’s, her heart stuttering as a cold wave of Possessiveness crashed over her. The way his fingers curled around Becky’s—firm, familiar—sent a pang through her chest, sharp and unwelcome. Was it affection? Possession? Her breath grew uneven, her mind spinning with doubt. Does she want this? Is she being bothered? The roses trembled in her grasp, their paper crinkling as her emotions churned—jealousy, fear, a flicker of hurt she couldn’t name. She’d misunderstood something, she was sure of it, and the realization twisted inside her like a knot.
Then Becky’s head turned, tracing the path of Freen’s troubled stare, and their eyes locked across the lobby. Becky’s gaze met Freen’s, and in an instant, panic flared in her tired eyes. Her breath caught, her face paling as she saw the way Freen was staring—fixated on Kirt’s hand, the hurt and confusion plain in her expression. No, no, it’s not what it looks like, Becky’s mind screamed, her heart lurching as she realized how it must seem. Her lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping as she glanced down at Kirt’s lingering grip, then back to Freen, her wide eyes pleading silently for her to understand. Freen stood frozen, the roses heavy in her arms, her chest tight with misread emotion, while Becky’s rising alarm clashed with the truth she couldn’t yet voice. Kirt turned too, sensing the shift, and the air thickened with a fragile, fraught tension, poised on the brink of unraveling.