The red tulips had stood tall in their vase as a crimson reminder. Each day she would pass them by, ponder briefly on the starker contrast of the grey office lobby they stood in, and continue to forget about them until the end of her day. There was something equally surprising about their conspicuous display every time she noticed them, as if it were the first time she saw them each time she passed. They held a promise of sorts, one she had yet to find the time to wonder about. Each day, they would stand extravagant and vibrant, demanding to be seen, but silent nonetheless. It was as she had passed them for the last time that week, on her way out of the lobby to the darkening city, that she had told herself, one day, and they had replied, soon. And she knew.
Learn more about the contest which inspired this story:  Nutshell Narratives 2019-02
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