The last rose
The wilted rose lies in my closet, dry n forlorn it stares at me , recalling and revisiting the last twenty two valentine days. Back in 98,few months after our betrothal , as I was coming out exhausted n knackered after an arduous24 hrs duty in labour room as a first year pg, I found my valentine coyly waiting near the parking lot ,propped against his proud posession ,the black Lml vespa NV. His handsome mien,cutting a dash in a black leather jacket , white shirt and jeans and of course the angelic smile that was his permanent companion, was in stark contrast to my fatigued,frumpy and groggy visage. I stifled my yawn and faked a smile,oblivious of the day it was. As he took out the solitary rose festooned with a red silken ribbon and swathed in a transparent paper with tiny red hearts dappled over it..My sullen and fatigued face morphed into an elated and vivified one..It was my first valentine ,a precious one.The wall flower k...