I twirled the white rose's stem in my hand, smiling to myself as I take slow steps towards my destination. I was wearing a cream coloured sleeveless dress that reached slightly above my knee, a black ribbon tied at my waist. My brown purse was slung against my right shoulder. I may look silly with my eyes lost in my own dreams, wandering about as my thoughts floated only about Baro.

He told me, as he gave me this single stem, that legend says if I bring a white rose to the neighbourhood's church garden, it will turn red in the presence of your beloved one. And if not, it will wilt with time. I'm not sure if its true but knowing Baro, he would do anything to make it happen. Thinking of this trait of his made me smile to myself again, so I quicken my steps to avoid stares. I can't wait to see him anyway.

As I placed my foot through the back entrance of the garden, I took a admiring glance at the view. The garden was full of colours - carpeted with green grass, greener than I've ever seen anywhere else. Flowers bloomed everywhere in the form of bushes, along with small pots of various known ones like sunflowers and orchids edging them. In one corner there was a table with a few stools along its sides and at the sides of the garden near the bushes were long benches. I went towards it and took a seat.

I stared back at my white rose. It didn't turn red, but it didn't wilt neither. Probably the legend was wrong. I looked around to see if Baro had left any hints that he was here. There was no one - just me. Suddenly the wooden door that acted as the entrance opened and closed by itself. I felt eerie and the hair behind my neck stood, but I took that it was just the wind.

I'm here!

Where is he?

Bomi? I'm here. Bomi? Can't you see me?

After what felt like hours, I sighed. He stood me up. He lied to me. I felt tears prickling and gathering at my lids, but I refused to let it fall. I started towards the door.

Bomi! I'm here! Right in front of you! Why...?

I swung open the wooden entrance but then I felt a tug at my right wrist behind me. I looked back and see the rose that was still in my hand. It was red.

The tears I tried to stop finally fell and my fingers let the red rose slip. Why? How could it have turned red?

Because I'm here. But not me. My soul.

My eyes blurred from the tears and my vision started to make my mind go blur too. I left the garden - and the rose - and walked back home, avoiding myself from looking up. I couldn't let people see me cry. How pathetic.

I was about to cross a road when someone grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back. I looked up and saw a boy with small, kind eyes smiling down at me. His smile seemed sincere, but with a hint of pity when he saw me. But he didn't ask questions.

"You were about to walk into an investigation scene," he told me, looking towards the road.

"Huh?" I followed his eyes, and saw something I didn't even notice was right in front of me. An ambulance had its red blinking lights on, but its siren was quiet. Various nurses and policemen gathered, asking questions towards a man who had guilt written all over his expression. He seemed frustrated. Somewhere further up the road was a minivan, its wheels trailing up a line of blood on the road. People gathered and left, shaking their heads at the scene. Just before the nurses wrapped the victim's body with a white cloth, I got a glance of his face.

Baro.

I cupped my mouth, feeling the urge to scream. My feet moved by itself towards the scene. The boy tried to stop me again, but I pushed away his hands. The nurses looked at me curiously as I moved pass them and towards the body. The policemen were about to stop me but I had already slipped my hands at the white cloth and revealed his face. It had blood streaming down his soft cheeks, now pale and cold. His round nose. His hair that was in a mess, just the way it was the first time I met him at an inter-school football match. I fell on my knees, sobbing loudly. Baro was there. He was my beloved one.

A couple of days after, they had his funeral at the church we were supposed to meet. I attended it with a strong heart. I hadn't cried since that night. But when they went to bury his body I decided to stay behind. Instead, I went to the garden to look for my rose.

It was there, untouched on the grass floor. I observed its condition as I picked it up. It had wilted, petals dark at its edges and the stem thin of dehydration. But I wasn't sure if it was because of nature itself or if it was because Baro had left the garden, leaving me to move on without him.