“Well, how is this?” she asked him and flaunted the painting again in front of him as they were walking back from the school. Though today she walked with a slight limp. She had tripped and hurt her ankle.
He looked at it cursorily and smiled. He knew that she painted for him, of him. He also knew exactly what irritated her. He knew her too well. “Oh it is just like anything regular. Nothing special.”
She stopped walking. Her headache, her sprained ankle and now his words. She ripped the painting and with tears in her eyes said “You don't deserve to be painted for. You don't deserve my friendship. I don't want to see you again.” And before he could say anything she started crossing the little wooden bridge that was over the little stream that ran between their houses. She reached home, fell on the bed and cried. A storm was brewing. And so was a fever inside her. For three days she was almost bedridden. By the fifth day her old spirit had returned. She wondered as to why he hadn't come to check on her because he used to do so before. She had a bath, put on her prettiest frock and went to her garden. She plucked out a lovely red rose and crossed over the bridge to walk to his home. She knocked at his door though the door was open. He was busy doing his project. She went inside and offered him the rose. He ignored her and carried on with his project. She sensed that he was angry. So she put the rose on his table and sat on a chair beside him. “I'm sorry I misbehaved. I wasn't well.”
He still didn't look up. She was fighting back her tears because she knew he hated that. “I know you are angry but please try and understand.” And then she sat in silence while he carried on with his project. After an hour she got up to leave. “I'll be back tomorrow. I have to go and get lessons from Mary as I was unable to go to school.” He didn't look up. She left with a heavy heart. That evening she kept herself busy copying the lessons. The school was closed for two weeks for term holidays. She was glad as she could catch up with the missed lessons.
Next day she did the same. Had a bath, had her breakfast, went to the garden and plucked out a rose, crossed over the little bridge and went to see him. He had obviously made much progress on his project. “That is so good! Your work is so neat!” She said as she offered him the rose. He didn't look up. She left the rose on the table and as was her habit, she told him about everything that went on in the day. Not once did he acknowledge her presence. She sat for an hour and then left. This went on for a week. Till one day …
She had a bath, had her breakfast, went to the garden, plucked a rose and was walking on the bridge when she froze … He was chopping off with an axe the part of the bridge at his end. When he ensured that it was now no longer possible for anyone to leap that long enough, he stopped hacking and went home with his axe.
She walked back slowly towards her home. She then went in the garden shed, got her father's axe out and chopped off the rose bush. She then got a bottle of acid and poured on the stump of the chopped rose bush. All this without tears in her eyes.
For she knew, she will now no longer be able to give roses to anyone nor will she be able to be friends with anyone … else.
