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“I’ve always loved tulips,” Lavender mutters, watching the first-year students dig their tiny hands into the soft dirt, half playing and half preparing it for the bulbous seeds they hold. A few older students have live flowers; their leaves wilted with a melancholy only I can recognize. They laughed, some boys pulling on the colorful petals and placing the transparent little things into their hair.
“I know,” I respond quietly, turning my head to look at her transparent form. She smiles, as sad as the wilting flowers just a few feet in front of us. “I remember.”
“Only you do,”
“That’s not true,” I laugh softly, my hand sliding through her transparent shoulder, leaving me chilled and my fingers damp. It saddened me that I couldn’t feel her soft skin, but for now, that didn’t matter to me. She was still here. She was still with me. “We’re planting those tulips for you, Lav. All for you. It’s why I asked you to come out with me tonight.”
When Lavender turned around, her eyes seemed to shine with something I had only ever seen while she was alive.
Hope.