Tears and Petals

In a small town where the scent of roses danced in the wind, Alice sat alone in the garden. It had been a month since her grandmother passed away, but the pain hadn’t lessened. And just a week ago, she lost Totie too.

The world around her kept moving, but Alice felt frozen in time.

She traced the edges of a wilted petal, her fingers brushing against the soft, fading color.

“I don’t know what to do without you, Grandma,” she whispered. “And Totie… he’s gone too. Everything feels … empty.”

The garden had once been full of life, a place where Alice and her grandmother spent hours together. They had planted roses, tulips, and daisies, and her grandmother always said that flowers grew best when they were loved.

Alice sighed, looking around. The garden was no longer as beautiful as before. The flowers drooped, their once-bright colors fading. Grasses had begun to take over.

“You always talked to them, remember?” Alice chuckled bitterly. “You said they listened.”

She closed her eyes, remembering how her grandmother’s voice had filled the garden with warmth. Now, there was only silence.

Her heart ached. She missed them both.

She thought about Totie—the boy with warm brown eyes and a laugh that made her heart feel light. He had come into her life when she least expected it.

It was in this very garden, three months ago, that they first met.

She had been pulling out grasses when a voice startled her.

“You’re killing them,” the boy said.

Alice turned, frowning. “Excuse me?”

He grinned. “The grasses. They have feelings too, you know.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “I don’t think my grandma would agree.”

He laughed, crouching beside her. “I’m Totie,” he said, holding out his hand.

She hesitated before shaking it. “Alice.”

From that day on, Totie became a part of her life. He would come to the garden every afternoon, telling stories about his childhood in Mexico, about the stars, about dreams he had.

And Alice, for the first time, felt something she never had before—love.

“I think I’m falling for you,” Totie had said one evening, as they sat under the old oak tree.

Alice’s heart raced. “I think I am too.”

And then, he kissed her.

It felt like magic.

But magic never lasts.

A week ago, Totie was driving home when a car ran a red light. The crash was fatal.

Alice never got to say goodbye.

A tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away, her hands trembling.

“I wish you were here,” she whispered. “I miss you both so much.”

A soft breeze rustled the leaves, making the wind chimes sing. Alice’s gaze fell on the old wooden bench where her grandmother used to sit, sipping tea while telling stories.

She had always believed that gardens held secrets, that the earth whispered if you knew how to listen.

Alice shook her head. “I feel stupid talking to myself,” she admitted. “But it makes me feel closer to you.”

As she looked down, her eyes caught something strange—a small, uneven patch of dirt near the rose bushes. Her heart skipped a beat.

“What’s that?” she muttered.

Curiosity pushed her forward. She crawled to the spot and began digging with her hands. The soil was loose, and after a few moments, her fingers brushed against something hard.

A tin box.

Alice hesitated before pulling it out. It was rusted at the edges, old and worn. With trembling hands, she pried it open. Inside, wrapped in faded cloth, was a diary.

Her breath caught. “Grandma’s?”

She wiped the dirt off and turned the first page. The handwriting was delicate, slanted, and painfully familiar.

June 3rd, 1965

Today, I planted roses with Mama. She says flowers grow best when you talk to them with love. I think she’s right. They look happier today.

Alice swallowed hard, flipping through the pages. The diary was filled with stories—memories of childhood, of love, of heartbreak. But one entry made her pause.

October 12th, 1980

I never told anyone, but I had a sister. My little Evelyn. She had the brightest smile, but she was always sick. Mama and Papa did everything they could, but she left us too soon. I still dream of her voice, calling my name in the garden…

Alice’s breath hitched. “Grandma had a sister?”

She had never heard of Evelyn before. No one in the family ever mentioned another child.

Alice flipped further, her hands shaking. A dried daisy was pressed between two pages. The entry beside it read:

November 5th, 1981

I still visit Evelyn’s grave. I sit by the flowers and talk to her. Maybe that’s why I love gardens so much. It’s the only place where I don’t feel alone.

Tears welled up in Alice’s eyes. She clutched the diary to her chest.

“Oh, Grandma…” she whispered. “You talked to her just like I talk to you.”

For the first time, Alice understood. The garden wasn’t just a place to grow flowers. It was a place for memories, a place to keep the ones you love close.

She turned the page and found another entry that made her heart ache.

March 20th, 1990

I am afraid. I am going to be a grandmother soon. My daughter says she will name her baby Alice. I wonder if I will be a good grandmother. I hope she will love the garden as much as I do.

Alice gasped. “You wrote about me?”

She flipped more pages, reading about her first steps, her first words, the days she spent playing in the garden. Every entry was filled with love.

July 15th, 2010

Alice asked me today why I talk to the flowers. I told her they listen. She laughed and said that was silly. But one day, I hope she will understand.

Alice wiped her tears.

“I do, Grandma,” she whispered. “I understand now.”

She pressed the diary against her heart, closing her eyes.

For the first time since her grandmother’s passing, Alice didn’t feel alone. The garden was still full of whispers, carrying love through every petal, every leaf, every soft breath of wind.

She smiled through her tears. “And I promise… I’ll keep talking.”

She looked up at the sky, imagining Totie’s warm brown eyes looking back at her.

“I miss you,” she whispered. “Both of you.”

A single rose petal floated down, landing in her lap.

Alice smiled through the pain.

Maybe, just maybe, they were still listening.