TNN Oneshot

The sound of lavander

Vivian first saw Siobhan on a windswept autumn morning in the park, sitting on a bench with a book in her lap and a thermos of something that steamed against the cold. Her scarf was lavender, her laugh was rare but radiant, and the ducks seemed to gather around her like they, too, were drawn to her warmth.

Vivian, a photographer with a habit of walking to chase the light, was caught instead by the way Siobhan’s hair glowed gold in the early sun. She lifted her camera on instinct. Click. A moment captured.

The next morning, Vivian came back. And the next. Siobhan was always there, same bench, same book — Wuthering Heights. On the fourth day, Vivian sat beside her and offered a coffee in exchange for a smile.

“I was wondering when you’d say something,” Siobhan said, not looking up from her book.

That was how it started.

They began to meet intentionally. Coffee turned into breakfast. Books were exchanged. Rainy days became excuses to sit under one umbrella and talk about everything — grief, dreams, the songs that made them cry, the colors they imagined when they kissed.

Vivian photographed the small things: Siobhan’s hand brushing hair behind her ear, her shadow falling across flower petals, the smirk she gave before stealing a fry. Siobhan, in return, wrote tiny poems on scraps of napkins and tucked them into Vivian’s coat pockets.

Their love wasn’t loud, but it was rooted — like wildflowers in a field no one planted but everyone needed.

One spring evening, surrounded by lavender blossoms, Siobhan whispered, “You caught me in a picture before I ever knew I wanted to be seen.”

Vivian replied, “You made me believe in color again.”

And that was enough.