What do you want from me?

This is a question I have voiced countless times. This particular time however, I get a response that screams wrong in all ways.

On the sound of the bell, I stand to leave in hurry to make it in time for a lunch date with a friend. I am halfway towards the door when I realise everyone else is still seated, their eyes staring at me.
What is going on?
A few hushed tones create a monotonous hun that does everything but calm the butterflies growing in my stomach. Being a quiet and shy girl, getting attention is what I purposely avoid but at this moment it seems to have finally caught up with me. Nobody says a thing and I decide to walk and hurry to my date. I wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.

At the door, Becky catches up with me and points to my back pack.
“There is something on your bag,” she says and disappears round a corner.
Did I pick the wrong bag in my rush to leave? Definitely not.
I turn my bag from my back to my front and only then does it hit me.
Everyone gets busy minding their own business or pretends to because I can still feel a few eyes on me. If I were them, my eyes would be gorged at the sight of what was in my bag.

A white rose sticks out like a thorn from my all black look, poorly tucked in the main pocket of my back pack. Only a rose? The zipper is barely open and I just pull the single stalk out but then I could never be ready for what follows.
Another white rose, and another one and yet another one, ooh and yet another one.
At first I am awed by the gesture of putting a rose in my bag. Who is the secret admirer? However, when I loose count of the roses springing out of my bag, bile slowly rises up my gut.
How many of these are in here?

I turn my bag upside down and empty all its content at the doorway, unbothered by the scene I am creating. After 15 stalks of rose flowers, a note falls tied on one of them.
White petals, broken stalks, barely intact flowers mule around me looking nothing like their intended beautiful bouquet form meant to sway my heart.

Stuffing flowers in my bag, really?!!

I take the note, untie it from the broken stalk and from the handwriting I can already tell who’s head I’d chop off later.

What I want from you, is you. I want you for myself.
1930 hrs
See you at your place.

Becky

Remember Becky, it’s the same Becky.
The words do nothing to calm down the storm of rage simmering within. Is this her interpretation of giving an explanation? What does she want me for?
I decide to play ignorant and jump into no suggestive conclusions and let patience take the day.

1930hrs

Dear Becky, I really hope you don’t turn my house into a rose garden.

I’m already too late for my lunch date to even think of a reasonable excuse. One problem at a time. I text my date an apology and proceed to call Becky.
She better have a good explanation for this.

Well well well
Ladies and gentlemen😅
Meet my girlfriend ‘Becky’
Names have been changed for her privacy but if you know you know🤫😅
Nothing much to say about this post, but I would definitely love to hear your thoughts about it.😎

Just in case you might be wondering, I am strictly inclined to the beholders of the Y chromosome.

See you next Tuesday my friends😅 with yet another story from the drama my life is😅
Have you heard Faith_daktari is launching an audio platform?
Kwani uko nchi ingine😅🤣 better start washing your ears for this voice….

One last thing
Thank you so much for the support, likes, comments, dms and views😍

Adios
^Faith💛