The Mallow Flower on the Cuff
One year, the purple mallow flowers in the university campus bloomed especially brilliantly. Her face glowed in the evening light, framed by two bright red cheeks. He asked her under the flower tree, “Do you know the meaning of the mallow flower?” She shook her head. He replied, “Though the mallow flowers bloom in the morning and fall by night, they face the world unadorned, not yearning for extravagance. They symbolize fidelity, eternity, and beauty—just like you.” She smiled. He continued, “The mallow flowers are blooming so grandly, just like a love that gives everything, without reservation.”
In early autumn, they fell in love. Their university was located on the outskirts of a small town, and they often snuck away together. She would ride on the back of his bicycle, her pink skirt fluttering like a dancing butterfly.
One day, he somehow found a motorcycle, and she leapt onto the back seat like a little deer, tightly wrapping her arms around his waist as they sped through the streets. The sky was high and the clouds sparse, and the wind carried the sweet scent of flowers.
That day, he spent all the money he could spare from his living expenses to buy her a white top. The fabric was silky smooth and soft; when she wore it, it felt ethereal as it fluttered in the breeze. She was reluctant to wear it, hugging it tightly. He laughed at her silliness and placed the shirt on the motorcycle’s back seat, wanting her to hold him close.
When they reached the school, she shook out the shirt only to find a small hole in the cuff. He took it and, feeling regret, lowered his head—it was burned by the hot exhaust pipe of the motorcycle. She felt wronged and almost cried.
The next day, he handed her the shirt, and to her surprise, there was a purple mallow flower stitched on the cuff! He had scoured the small town and found a little tailor shop that had never embroidered a mallow flower before; at his request, a delicate flower adorned the pristine sleeve. She wore the shirt with satisfaction, raising her hand, as if a purple mallow flower was dancing in the air.
She thought, a boy with such thoughtful care must be gentle and considerate. When they graduated, she resolutely followed him to a remote small town to teach. As she said goodbye to her bustling hometown, she didn’t look back.
Three years passed, like flowers blooming and withering. She dedicated more time to her work. One day, as she prepared her lessons, he sat under the light, staring at her. He said, “I no longer love you; let’s get a divorce.” She laughed, thinking he was joking. “Stop messing around; we have classes tomorrow.” He looked down, saying, “I’m serious.”
She didn’t know how to respond. The person before her felt so unfamiliar, as if she had never known him. She gazed at him, and he couldn’t meet her eyes, confessing it was because of another girl. He repeatedly apologized.
What was this? He felt like a tyrannical rebel who had dragged her to a desolate place, then callously abandoned her. In this small town, he was her only kin.
He left her the house, savings, and all memories, leaving her alone. Yet, she felt an emptiness inside. She pulled out the white top with the purple mallow flower, wearing it and staring blankly. She felt like a dancer who poured her passion into a performance, only to be left with a pair of faded red shoes—so desolate. Was this how her life would be spent?
She didn’t want to return to her parents’ home. She had gambled her youth here, and now that she lost, how could she turn back? With love closing its door, life’s window still stood open. She gathered herself and fought hard in life. In this small town, there were still her students, friends, and colleagues; she was not alone, and she wanted to stay.
Ten years later, she became a prominent figure in the small town. Through her outstanding achievements, she became the principal of a key middle school and later the deputy director of the education bureau. She had many students and a fulfilling life. In this town, she put down roots, earning accolades while he faded into the background. Occasionally, she would pull out the white top pressed in the bottom of her box; the mallow flower on the cuff had faded with time. Holding it brought a twinge of pain; letting it go left a dull emptiness. She wasn’t sure if she still felt resentment.
She thought he was the train of her life, carrying her to a destination she needed to reach. She got off, and he continued on. She arrived at her own destination, forever severing ties with him. That stop was a journey she had to experience.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
