RENAISSANCE

37. Beautiful are the flowers

"Do you really need this figurine?"

It was a small pineapple-shaped figurine, with eyes and feet.

Suzan gave me a mischievous look, as if she had guessed my perplexity, and I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in question.

"It's been ages since I've set foot in a grocery store, let me waste my money, please."

I looked at her amusedly as she defended her find with determination tinged with nostalgia. A teasing smile stretched across my lips as I raised my hands in surrender.

"Okay, I didn't say anything!"

Suzan's scrutinizing gaze fell on the carefully selected items I had placed in my basket: spices, fresh meat, a few colorful vegetables.

"So, what are you planning to make tonight? You haven't even told me," she asked, her tone tinged with curious hunger.

"To be honest, I'm not sure," I said, gently pressing the avocados to assess their ripeness. "I don't think I'm capable of cooking a very sophisticated dish yet, so I wanted to go for something simpler. At least I'm sure it will be good."

"Madame wants to make a good dish for her lover..."

Her teasing remark brought a smile to my lips. Her playful tone was contagious, but I couldn't help but give her a faux stern look.

My lover.

A sweet smile spread across my lips as I realized with tender emotion that it was the first time someone had referred to him like that out loud. It was as if, by uttering those words, Suzan had given a voice to what he meant to me.

And almost daringly, I allowed myself to let that word cross my mind: love.

It was a revelation as sweet as it was bitter. A feeling that had long eluded me, which seemed to mock me, capricious, inaccessible. I had always seen it everywhere around me, in the loving arms of my friends' parents, in the passionate embraces I crossed in the street, in the romances depicted on screen.

This feeling was finally mine, too.

I must tell him.

Her light laughter brought me back to reality, and I blinked, turning to her.

"Stop daydreaming like that, you're starting to scare me," she said.

I shook my head, a embarrassed smile appearing on my face at her words.

"Nonsense," I replied, still a little lost in my thoughts.

After checking our list one last time, we headed to the checkout counters, our steps punctuated by the laughter that continued to punctuate our conversation. The line at the checkout offered us a moment of respite, a moment during which I spotted tulip bouquets arranged in water-filled bins.

"Look at this," I said, pointing to the bouquets.

Her gaze followed mine, and I stepped away from the checkout aisle to quickly take a look.

There was a palette of colors ranging from deep red to bright yellow, through shades of pink and purple. Instantly, the tulip field where we had been with Isaac came to mind.

So I picked up a bouquet of yellow tulips, reminding me of the one Isaac had given me. That day, amid the colorful expanse of the tulip field, he had picked that yellow tulip and offered it to me with a sweet smile.

So, is that love? Is it gazing at flowers and feeling a warm glow fill my heart as I recall that shared memory? Is it that indescribable feeling that makes me tremble with every thought of him, of us, of what we could be together?