𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 | 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐊 [Collins]

Chapter 13 - Carefree

(revised)

We were now in June, and sun had finally made its apparition in England. Londoners were enjoying those rare rays of sunshine on that sweet morning. Streets were buzzing with people going to the market, children playing on the sidewalk and cars hurrying on the road. If it was not for the posters displayed here and there, one would not think we were at war. I could almost forget it. I had always loved the month of June because I associated it with summer, end of school, the days out with friends, the sensation of liberty, the holidays in the countryside. But I was a grown-up now. Things had changed. More responsibilities, fewer friends, no more holidays. Yet, I still loved June as I did when I was a kid.

I took a deep breath when I walked by the bakery, inhaled the sweet smell of pastries and bread. I smiled at the two little boys coming out of the store with their ration of food, really proud to be in charge of the shopping for their family. Little pleasures of that kind were essential in time of war. I was still looking at the world through the eyes of a child sometimes, finding beauty in the little things of the everyday life, like the melody of a piano escaping from an open window, wind carrying petals in the air, the sweet sound of birds chirping in the tree above my head, fluffy squirrels chasing one another on the lawn of the park, the sun reflecting on the puddles. Everything was worth noticing. Everything played its part in the beauty of the world.

My attention was drawn to a man shouting behind his stand, on the other side of the street. He was surrounded by flowers of splendid colours, adding another positive note to the day, so I felt the need to buy some. I reached into my pocket to look for change and found four coins that I kept in my hand as I crossed the street.

"Hi! How much for these?" I asked, nodding towards a bunch of red, white and purple flowers with large petals.

"The beautiful anemones? Give me two shillings and they're yours," the seller told me.

"All right," I replied as I handed him the money.

He gratefully accepted it and grabbed the flowers I had chosen to wrap them into newspapers before giving them to me.

"Thank you," I politely replied.

"Always a pleasure to brighten a day," he said as he gave me a wink.

I resumed my walk, this time with a bunch of flowers in my hand. I probably took me twenty more minutes to reach the street I was looking for, with its rows of brick houses on each side. I went up to the end of the street, to the number twenty-seven, and climbed the few stairs to stop at the front door. I smoothed my cotton shirt, rearranged my hair and knocked on the door. The seconds that followed seemed like hours to me. I could not help but scratch my neck in apprehension at who would open the door, and I froze when I heard footsteps approaching on the other side of the wooden panel, hiding the flowers behind my back.

The door finally opened and to my great relief, it was her standing in the frame, and not her father. Her eyes widened when she realised I was there in front of her, as though she had just seen a ghost. No words could escape her mouth as she remained agape, unable to move, her hand still wrapped around the doorknob.

"Good morning, love," I greeted her.

A wide smile appeared on her face and responded to mine, and she threw her arms around my neck to welcome me in a warm embrace. I chuckled at her reaction and wrapped her into my arms, so happy to be reunited with her after more than a week apart. I kissed her and let myself relax under her soft touch. Her fingers grazed my neck and cheeks, then settled on my jaw and she deepened the kiss, pulling me closer to her. I drank in her perfume and the sweet smell of her skin as if I had been deprived of it for a lifetime.