It was her birthday. Noor woke up at 7 a.m. on a cold December morning. She loved winters — maybe because she was born in one. Winter healed something in her. It was as if she had survived the harshness of summer, and now, in the crisp air, she could finally breathe again.
The first thing she did was check her phone. There were messages from friends and cousins, mentions on Instagram stories — some with pretty pictures, some with ugly ones. She reacted with a red heart and thanked everyone. Even if you haven’t spoken in a while, a birthday wish is a reminder that you matter.
As she scrolled, her phone suddenly rang. The sound startled her. She had been lost in thought.
“Hello?” her boyfriend’s voice came through.
“Hi,” she replied, catching her breath.
“What happened? You sound — “
“Oh! You scared me,” she interrupted.
“Me?” he asked, confused.
“I was checking my phone in silence, and suddenly you called. I almost dropped it.”
He laughed. “You get scared so easily. I feel like I should start texting you first before calling. Or maybe you should just keep your phone on silent — though, knowing you, you’d never find it again.”
“Do you want to fight?” she asked, slightly irritated.
“Not today. Maybe tomorrow,” he said with a smirk.
She laughed.
“Okay, what time are you coming? Or should I pick you up?” he asked.
“No, I’ll come on my own. I have to meet a friend first, and then I’ll come to the café.”
“Today, you should just meet me. It’s a special day, but still…” He trailed off.
“I know. It’ll just take half an hour. I have to give her an assignment, and she got something for me. If I don’t go, she’ll tease me — love or friendship, pick one.” Noor smiled. “I know you’ll understand.”
“Yeah… all I do is understand you,” he said, his voice slightly lower.
“That’s why I love you.”
“I know.” His tone lifted. At times, a simple I love you was enough to dissolve a brewing argument, enough to make someone feel seen.
Noor had planned her outfit since November. A white sweater over a long purple shirt, a printed hijab, white canvas shoes, and a lavender-colored bag. As she got dressed, she looked exactly as she had imagined. She put on some makeup — just enough. A little blush, silver eyeshadow that made her eyes even more striking, mascara curled her lashes, and a touch of white kajal. The final touch was a fruity perfume. She felt fresh, warm, and beautiful on this cold day.
She met her friend first, as promised.
“OMG! You look so pretty. I don’t think you dressed like this for me,” her friend teased.
“Obviously, it’s for someone special.” Noor smiled.
“Hmm… You look like a lavender flower today.”
“That was the idea.” She twirled playfully, making them both laugh.
Her friend gifted her a pair of delicate, bow-shaped earrings. “Happy birthday again.”
They chatted for a while before parting ways.
Noor and Ali always met at the same café. Liberty. It was their place. Even the staff knew them. They had been together for five years — what started as teenage puppy love had grown into something deeper. Though they studied in different districts and different colleges, Ali always made time to visit. He’d travel once or twice a month, just to see her.
Today, on her birthday, meeting at Liberty was inevitable.
She reached at noon. As she walked in, she was greeted by familiar faces.
“Did Ali come?” she asked one of the waiters.
“Not yet, but he called. Follow me.”
She was led to a quiet corner. The sight took her breath away — white and purple balloons, candles, a cake, and, most beautifully, a bouquet. Roses of every color, with sprigs of lavender in between.
Noor stood still, taking it in. This wasn’t her first birthday with Ali, but it was the first since he started earning from freelance work. The gesture meant something.
She sat down, pulling out her phone to call him. His name on her screen was saved with a string of emojis.
“Hi, I’m here. How long will you take?” she asked before he could even say hello.
“Hi. I’m on my way,” he said.
She could hear the wind rushing in the background. She knew what that meant.
“Ali… are you on your bike?”
“Yes. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Why did you take your bike? It snowed three days ago, and the roads are still slippery! You could have taken public transport — it’s not safe.”
“No worries, I’ll ride slow.” Then, his voice softened. “Do you like it?”
Noor had been so caught up in worrying that she’d momentarily forgotten where she was. She glanced around, taking in the decorations again.
“Yes. It’s beautiful. I told you not to do anything, but you never listen.”
“Because I love you,” Ali said.
That was his answer to everything. Foolish arguments, serious discussions, playful teasing — those three words always worked.
“Just come safely. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Park your bike and take public transport.”
“I’m a professional rider.” He chuckled. “And besides, I still have something for you.”
“Ali — ”
“Okay, fine. I’ll be careful.”
Noor waited. And waited.
She distracted herself with messages, called a friend, chatted with cousins. But as the clock struck one, an uneasiness settled over her. Ali was never late. She called him. No answer. She called again. Still nothing.
Her hands grew cold. Her heart beat faster. Accidents were common in winter. Snow. Slippery roads. She could only think of the worst.
Then, a message popped up.
“Noor, I can’t come… Something urgent came up at home. I’m going back. I’m so sorry. Please have lunch and text me when you reach home.”
Relief washed over her first. Then, sadness. The decorations, the effort, the waiting. But more than disappointment, she was just glad he was safe.
She cut the cake with the café staff, packed some food, and took the bouquet home.
That evening, she found an old turquoise vase, cleaned it, filled it with water, and placed the flowers inside. They made the entire kitchen smell like spring.
Days passed.
Ali didn’t call. His texts became infrequent. Then, they stopped altogether.
She tried calling — his phone was off.
Worry turned into dread. Her spark dimmed.
Then, late one night, an unknown number called.
The voice on the other end was distant, cold.
Ali… accident… icy road… hospital… We’re sorry.
The phone slipped from her hand.
Then, a message came. His last.
“Noor, I’m in the hospital. I was injured on my way back home. I didn’t tell you because it was your birthday — I wanted it to be special.”
“Noor, I never thought we’d part. But if you’re reading this, I don’t think I’ll be here anymore.”
“Please don’t cry too much for me. Remember me once in a while. Be sad for two or three months, but when spring comes… live again. For me. For yourself.”
“On every birthday, gift yourself a white rose and think of me.”
“Noor, I love you. Forgive me for leaving you behind. Remember me with a smile.”
People say the dead don’t take the living with them. They are wrong. A part of her died that day.
Surviving and living are not the same thing.
The flowers in the turquoise vase began to wither, their petals curling, their fragrance fading. Days turned into weeks, and soon, only dried stems remained. Yet, Noor couldn’t bring herself to throw them away.
She kept them there — silent, lifeless, yet full of memories.
A vase of dead flowers.
A love that never got to bloom again.
