He was walking along the stands in Passeig de Gràcia when he saw her from afar. He remembered that 23rd of April of 2008 when his Catalan girlfriend told him about the book and the rose tradition for Saint George’s day. Unfortunately, that year they weren’t in Catalonia, and they didn’t make it to April of the next.
Should he say something? It wouldn’t make much sense to elbow his way through that crowd to say hi after that long. But was it just hi what he wanted to say? He bought a rose; a rose was worth the effort.
He stopped halfway. He wondered what that rose meant. Did he love her? Well, in a way he did. But in what way? And was he allowed to after that ending? What would he do with the rose anyway?
He went straight to her recalling that if one of them knew how to manage weird situations, it was her. He approached her; no music, no slow motion.
She saw him. She saw the rose. They both holding their breath for three seconds. He wasn’t saying a word. She rolled her eyes and walked away.