Flowers Left Behind | Luka x Reader

Epilogue: A New Life Begins

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever" - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The woman visited the grave every day with a single flower in hand. She always complained that all the other flowers that visitors left were wrong. No daisies, he was much more than just cheerful. No roses, he liked to give them away, yes, but they weren't his favorites. Gardenias were his father's favorites, irises were his stepmother's. Jasmines were for his wife, daffodils for his daughters, and hydrangeas for his son.

No, his favorite flower - the one that brought him the most joy and represented him the best - was camellias. White camellias, to be exact, because they were his mother's favorites. He said that his favorite memory of her would always be seeing her in the garden of their home, smelling the camellias, and calling for him to join her for a stroll.

"I always thought she looked the most beautiful surrounded by flowers," he told her on the fourth day after they met. He had looked at her with a soft golden smile that she had since saved in her memory. He had always looked perfect in her memories.

So, yes. White camellias were his favorite. No other flower could ever match his beauty like those did.

But he wasn't surrounded by camellias. His family had buried him with white lilies and - no no no no no. Lilies weren't right. Yes, he was heavenly but they were nothing in comparison to him. Camellias were just like him; passionate, desired, angelic, loved. Camellias meant longing, and boy, did he longed.

He longed to see his mother smile one more time. He longed for his father and stepmother to find happiness again. He longed to travel, to not only see the world but know it. He wished to step out of his father's shadow and expectations and find what he was passionate about. He wished to take her hand, to kiss her, to hold her in his arms and never let go.

But as perfect as he was, and as much as they truly loved each other, he wasn't as courageous as she. Where she fought against the powers that held her down, he complied and did as he was told - for he also deeply longed for his father's approval. He'd let himself live a miserable life stuck working his father's business, never seeking more than he was given if it meant his father would tell him how proud he was to have him as a son with a smile that never reached his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He had tried not to weep on that last night of theirs. He didn't believe he had the right to do so, but the tears still fell from his eyes and onto his cheeks. "I'm a coward." He buried his head on her lap, kneeling before her like a devout follower begging for forgiveness. "I pray that in the next life it will be different. And I know I'm going to be speaking my vows to another, but I swear, my lady, I will only ever love you. 'Til the end of time, you own my heart and soul."

She was stupid to not respond to him then. If he thought of himself as a coward, then she should've been brave and strong enough for the both of them. She should have fought harder for him. Maybe then they would've lived their lives together with a full heart, seeing and knowing the world side-by-side.

But that's not what happened.

He left her for the fiancée his father had arranged for him, and she left town with a shattered heart.

When his son was born, she met a carpenter who had a talent for playing the six-string. She couldn't love the carpenter as much as she loved him, and the carpenter knew this and understood - his own love had died when they were children. They married that year.

When her daughter was born, his father died from overworking. He inherited the business. She didn't send her condolences.

His twin daughters were born that fall. He named one of them after his mother and the other after her. His wife thought the name was beautiful and nothing else.