The Rose Garden

The Rose Garden

Alina’s family had recently moved to Woodlock Village. They were originally from the town, but due to her father’s transferable job, they often had to move. This time, they settled in a place that seemed as though it was personally blessed by the gods.

Alina wasn’t thrilled about the move. Angry and bored, she often ventured out to find a place that might remind her of the town. During one of these explorations, she discovered a garden full of roses, with a small cottage nestled in the middle. It was an enchanting view, with vibrant red roses that captivated her. The desire to touch one and keep it for herself led her to pass through the gate. But before she could touch a single bloom, a man with a wild beard and tattered clothes appeared and snapped, “How dare you touch what is not yours?”

Terrified, Alina ran away, her heart pounding. "How could anyone live like that?" she thought to herself.

The next day, she decided to explore the opposite direction, far away from the rose garden, but somehow she ended up back in front of it.

“Damn it, Alina, what are you doing here?” she muttered under her breath. 

Still, she didn’t leave. Instead, she peeked through the gate to see if the man was around. Satisfied that he wasn’t, she quietly entered and began to sketch a rose that had caught her eye the day before. Absorbed in her drawing, she lost track of time.

“You gave more life to it through your drawing,” the gruff voice startled her again. She spun around, ready to flee, but stopped when she saw the man walking back toward the cottage.

“I’m sorry for trespassing, but your garden is very beautiful,” she apologized, her voice trembling slightly.

The man didn’t respond, only waved her away as if she were a pesky fly. Just as she was about to leave, he added, “You can come and draw, but don’t even think about taking anything else.”

Alina’s face lit up with a smile as she nodded and left. From that day on, she visited the garden daily, sketching various roses. They didn’t talk much at first, but slowly, small exchanges of praise and curious questions about the roses took place.

As the days passed, Alina found herself growing fonder of the village. One day, she mentioned to her mother that she wanted to exhibit her drawings to the world. Her mother, delighted to see Alina adjusting to their new home, encouraged her dream.

One afternoon, Alina arrived late at the garden and was shocked to find the man destroying his precious roses in a fit of rage. “Stop!” she cried, rushing to him, but he ignored her, his anger consuming him. The sky rumbled, and heavy rain began to fall. Alina watched in sorrow as the man broke down, his tears mixing with the rain.

Unable to bear his pain, she hugged him tightly. “What an irony that I find your emotions more beautiful than the roses,” she whispered, tears streaming down her own face.

The man, trembling, finally spoke. “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything,” Alina replied without hesitation.

“Help me feel beautiful,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Stunned, Alina looked into his eyes—eyes that held years of sorrow and loss. Without a word, she led him inside the cottage and set to work. She trimmed his overgrown beard, cut his hair, and helped him find clean clothes. As she worked, she caught a glimpse of an old photograph of a woman on the mantel. The woman had kind eyes and a gentle smile. "Your wife?" Alina asked softly, to which he only nodded, his eyes reflecting a deep, unspoken grief.

Once he was cleaned up, Alina ran home to grab her Polaroid camera. She noticed something different about the house but was in too much of a hurry to figure it out. When she returned to the cottage, the man was sitting in front of the window, looking out at the rain-soaked roses. She positioned him to capture the scene, saying, “Wait a little, and then you’ll see how handsome you are.”

He gave her a sad, yet serene smile as she snapped the photo. Handing him the picture, he studied it for a moment before speaking. “Come tomorrow. I’ll have something for you,” he said.

That night, Alina barely slept, her mind racing with curiosity about the gift.

The next morning, she found her family packing up boxes. She knew what it meant, dread settled in her stomach as she bolted toward the garden, ignoring her mother’s calls. For the first time, she saw people other than the man at the cottage. She searched for him frantically until the mayor stopped her.

“Where is he?” Alina demanded. “I visit this place regularly.”

“Oh dear, you must be Alina. I’m so sorry for your loss,” the mayor said gently, handing her an envelope.

Her hands shook as she opened it, revealing a beautifully handwritten note:

Alina,
You were right that it is ironic that a dull and depressed person like me owned a rose garden. Can you do me another favor, Alina? I never got a chance to sit pleasantly in my own garden with her. Could you draw a picture of us, where we both are smiling, and no one is destined to die? My payment to you is the garden itself.
Daniel.

She clutched the note to her chest and wept bitterly. Along with the note was the Polaroid she had taken and an old photograph of the woman.

A year later in Paris, a painting known as The Rose Garden became famous worldwide. Although millions were offered for it, the artist refused to sell it, as it was meant to remain inside the cottage, facing the window through which one could see the garden.