You'd gifted him the seeds for Life Day. He had been surprised to receive a gift, perplexed at what was inside. A tiny, weightless bag, nothing more than paper it seemed. But several tiny bumps could be felt as he gingerly ran his thumb across and his smile widened. He'd always been amazed by your home garden. He'd watch you water the flowers, would help you pick the vegetables. You'd tell him all about the plants and how to care for them and he'd listen intently but would never interfere. It was your space. Now, he'd be able to have a corner of his own.
You'd helped him germinate the seeds after the new year. He had carefully followed your instructions for potting, his brow furrowed with the utmost of concentration as he delicately covered each cell of seeds with a thin layer of soil. He had fiddled with the pots, shifting their position on the ledge by mere fractions of inches, to position them just right. He had damn near spent his entire leave of absence peeking at them, inspecting them, knowing nothing would happen so early but still being too fascinated to keep away.
You'd looked after his seedlings while he was on duty. Of course you would've taken care of them anyway, but he'd still insisted on sending you reminders. Is the temperature still right? Is the soil still moist? It's been two weeks, are they sprouting yet? You'd waited for the little green leaves to really start showing before you sent him a photo. The 50 exclamation marks in response had left none of his excitement to the imagination. You'd demanded he focus on his mission so he could come home alive and see them for himself.
You'd set aside a flower bed for him a week before the final frost. You'd guided him through the process of transplanting his precious babies into their new home and tried not to tease him for it. He'd been a little ridiculous, but also endearing, you supposed, as he fussed over their care. It was only when you'd grumbled after catching him whispering to them early in the morning did he ease up and start paying you more attention instead.
You'd left the garden gate open for him in the warmth of spring. You yourself had been tending your own plants and were okay letting him rush to see his blooming flowers before greeting you. His face had predictably lit up in awe and joy as he crouched by them, brushing his gloved fingers lightly along the petals. All the effort, all the worry and fuss, had finally produced three vibrant, beautiful flowering plants. And then his smile had become a frown as he discovered the one bulb that hadn't yet opened. You'd assured him some flowers took more time than others, but his concern only grew with each continually dormant day.
You'd whispered a prayer to his flower when summer came. Crept outside in the middle of the night, your stomach twisting with worry. He was supposed to have checked in days ago. No one had given you answers on his battalion's status. And to make it worse, each one of his flowers had been losing their petals, withering in the sudden heat no matter what you did to protect them. You'd laid yourself in the dirt next to the fallen petals and cradled the one flower that remained. It'd been the last to bloom - he'd left before it'd opened - and it still had some growing to do. You'd spoken to it through tears and a heavy heart, promising that if it could hold on, you could, too.
You'd given up on the garden long ago. Weeks of radio silence and heat waves had gone by and you'd had no choice to but to leave it behind. You'd gone parsecs away, searching for the one thing you couldn't give up on. You'd willed yourself to believe that of all the fragile living things, he would be the one that would survive such a harsh, unforgiving world. And if he was still out there, you'd find him. You'd get him back and you'd care for him and you'd never let him go. And so you'd searched and searched and searched... You'd hoped and fought and prayed. And against all the odds, you finally got him back into your arms. Safe. Alive. Well.
He named the flower after you upon his return. You felt sad but still went out with him to assess the damage. The whole garden was a sea of brown, wilted stems and crumpled leaves and dirt as hard as rock. But standing above it all, in the humble little corner you'd so generously given him, as if untouched by any troubles, was his flower - the flower. The one that had been so slow to bloom that he'd been worried it would simply die off. Now its petals were bright, vivid, beautiful. He didn't rush to it this time, instead staying in the shade by your side. You wrapped your arms around him and held him close as he whispered his love to you.
The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all.