PRINCESS ROSE
ADITHYA MENON
“Dig a little deeper,” I said, my voice softer than usual, as I stood watching her.
She sat there on the ground, knees folded, hands buried in the soil, carefully digging as if she was holding something fragile—something that could break if she rushed it even a little.
The small rose plant lay beside her, its leaves dry, edges curled, as if it had already given up on the idea of blooming again.
I had brought it home days ago—just a return gift from a friend’s wedding, something I never really thought about twice. It had been sitting in a corner, unnoticed, untouched… slowly fading into nothing.
Until she found it.
And suddenly—
It mattered.
She had been nagging me since morning, insisting that we plant it today, that it still had life left in it, that it just needed “a little care.”
I told her I would do it.
She refused.
“I’ll do it,” she had said, with that stubborn glint in her eyes.
And now here she was—
Sitting in the small patch of land in front of the house, the same place where I usually parked my bike, turning it into something else… something softer.
The sunlight fell gently over her, strands of her hair slipping loose, brushing against her cheeks as she leaned forward, fully focused on the soil in her hands.
There was dirt on her fingers.
On her clothes.
On her face, even.
But she didn’t care.
She dug a little deeper, just like I told her.
I leaned against the wall, arms loosely crossed, watching her in silence.
“This won’t grow,” I muttered half-heartedly, more to myself than to her.
“It will,” she said simply.
I let out a small breath, my gaze shifting to the fragile plant lying beside her.
She patted the soil proudly after planting it, a wide smile stretching across her face as she clapped her muddy hands like she had just completed a world-changing project.
“Clap your hands,” she said, looking at me expectantly. “A new family member.”
“Don’t be so childish,” I said, turning my gaze away like I hadn’t been watching her the whole time. “And we are not a family.”
She ignored that part completely. Obviously.
“And I’m very sure this won’t grow,” I added, glancing at the poor plant. “It’s already dried up. Don’t come crying when it dies completely.”
She rolled her eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t get stuck.
“Negative energy,” she muttered, looking back at the plant like it deserved a better guardian than me.
“What can we name her?” she asked, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
“How do you know this plant is a girl?” I asked immediately.
She turned to me slowly.
“So that’s your concern?” she asked, grinning. “Not the fact that I’m naming a plant?”
“I was supposed to think stupid since I’m temporarily living with one,” I said calmly.
She gasped dramatically.
“Excuse me? I just gave life to this plant.”
“You buried it,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
She pointed a finger at me. “You’re not allowed to talk to her like that.”
“To her?” I repeated.
“Yes,” she said firmly, turning to the plant. “Don’t listen to him, okay? He has no emotions.”
“I have plenty of emotions,” I said.
“Name one.”
“I’m currently feeling regret.”
She snorted, trying to hold back a laugh and failing miserably.
“Anyway,” she said, looking back at the plant, “her name is…”
She paused dramatically.
“Princess Rose Sinclair.”
I blinked.
“…That plant is going to die just from the pressure of that name.”
“It won’t,” she said confidently, patting the soil again. “She’s strong.”
“She looks like she gave up two days ago.”
“She’s resting.”
I sighed, shaking my head as I leaned against the wall.
“Fine. When Princess whatever dies, don’t blame me.”
“She won’t die,” she said, standing up and dusting her hands, then pointing at me. “And when she grows, you’ll apologize.”
She stood up and walked toward me with that very suspicious grin.
I took a step back immediately.
“Don’t you dare touch me with your muddy hands,” I warned.
She just chuckled, clearly enjoying my reaction.
“Relax, Mr. Clean,” she said, shaking her hands dramatically before walking to the side and washing them with the water she had brought for the plant.
Then she turned to me again, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“If Princess Rose grows up and blooms her first rose,” she said, “you have to kneel in front of me and give me that rose.”
I blinked.
“…What?”
“Yes,” she nodded seriously, wiping her hands. “Properly kneel. Like in movies.”
I scoffed. “You’re dreaming.”
She ignored me. Obviously.
“What if it grows a rose after our divorce?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, already prepared to escape this ridiculous deal.
She didn’t even hesitate.
“Then come to my office,” she said, dead serious. “Kneel down and give me the rose there.”
I stared at her.
“…In your office?”
“Yes.”
“In front of your employees?”
“Yes.”
I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head.
“No way.”
She crossed her arms, tilting her head.
“Scared?”
“Of you?” I scoffed. “Never.”
“Then agree,” she said immediately.
I looked at her for a second.
Then at the tiny, half-dead plant.
Then back at her overly confident face.
“This plant won’t even survive a week,” I muttered.
“Then you have nothing to worry about,” she shot back.
I exhaled sharply.
“Fine,” I said finally. “If it grows, I’ll… kneel and give you the rose.”
Her face lit up instantly.
“But,” I added quickly, “when it dies, you should admit that I am a genius”
She smirked.
“Deal.”
We shook hands.
I pulled my hand away and crouched down in front of the tiny, miserable-looking plant.
Leaning a little closer, I lowered my voice like I was about to share a serious secret.
“Please die, Princess Rose,” I whispered, dead serious, as if the plant could actually hear me and understand the gravity of the situation.
“What are you doing?”
I glanced back slightly.
She was standing there, hands on her hips, staring at me like I had officially lost my mind.
“Damage control,” I replied calmly.
She gasped. “You are cursing my child?”
“I’m being practical,” I corrected, turning back to the plant. “Look at her. She’s already halfway gone.”
“She is recovering,” she shot back, marching toward me.
I sighed and gently tapped the soil like I was encouraging it.
“No pressure, Princess. Just… you know… don’t survive.”
She smacked my shoulder.
“Stop it!”
I looked up at her innocently. “What? I’m just setting realistic expectations.”
“You are evil,” she declared.
She crouched down beside me, shielding the plant with her hand like I was a threat.
“Don’t listen to him, okay?” she said softly to the plant. “You grow well… I believe in you.”
I watched her for a second.
Then shook my head.
“One of us is definitely not normal,” I muttered to the plant.
She looked at me immediately.
“It’s you.”
“Obviously,” I nodded. “I’m the one talking to a plant.”
“Plants are actually living organisms… they can hear us,” she said, watering the soil carefully like it was something fragile.
I raised my eyebrows, looking at her.
“You have problems in your lungs, heart… and now in your brain too?”
She shot me a glare so sharp it could’ve cut the plant itself.
“Very funny,” she muttered, looking away as she continued pouring water.
I watched her quietly for a second—
The way she leaned closer.
The way she adjusted the soil again.
The way she handled something so small… like it mattered.
“After I leave this house… please water my princess daily,” she said softly.
Something in my chest tightened again.
I looked away immediately, clearing my throat.
“First let it survive,” I muttered.
“I’m serious,” she added after a moment.
I exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Yeah… I got it,” I said.
But my voice didn’t carry its usual sarcasm.
I took out my phone, exhaling slowly as if I could push out the heaviness sitting in my chest.
I opened the camera and started recording.
“Viyana,” I called.
She turned instantly—and the moment she saw the camera, that familiar grin spread across her face like she had been waiting for this.
I turned the camera slightly toward the plant.
“Today,” I began dramatically, “a new member has joined my house.”
She leaned closer into the frame, trying to adjust her hair like this was some official announcement.
“This member,” I continued, zooming in on the sad-looking plant, “will probably die in a few days.”
I wiped imaginary tears from my eyes.
“Such a short-lived soul.”
She gasped loudly and hit my arm.
“Hey! Don’t say that!”
“Let us all observe a moment of silence for Princess Rose,” I added, bowing my head slightly.
“She is not dying!” she snapped.
I moved the camera to her face now.
“Here we have the emotional mother,” I said.
She rolled her eyes but leaned into the camera anyway.
“Hello everyone,” she said sweetly. “Ignore this heartless man. My Princess Rose is going to grow beautifully.”
I zoomed out, capturing both of them—the girl and the tiny plant.
I clicked a photo before she could notice.
“…Let’s see,” I muttered, eyes still on the screen as a faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips.