Every rose has its thorns
Show me yours, and I will show the hands willing to bleed
He silently said, “Every rose has its thorns,” drawing the soft curve of a single flower. She laughed, sounding like wind chimes in the summer. “Show me yours,” she said, her eyes shining with fear and determination.
He wasn’t sure what to do. The weight of his past was like a barbed wire fence around his heart. It had been too long since he had dealt with betrayal, loss, and the pain of past mistakes. Still, he saw not fear in her eyes, but strength that was the same as his own.
He took a deep breath and put out his hand, palm up. Cutting scars on his face showed where he had been in fights in the past. She traced the bumps with one finger, and her eyes became softer. “And I will show you hands ready to bleed,” she said in a low voice, showing her palm. The smooth skin had a tiny crescent scar that showed she had been through a hard time.
He realized that the thorns weren’t a threat, but a way for everyone to talk to each other. Each mark tells a story, a battle won, and a testament to how strong they were. Because of what was known but not said, a promise grew. Not a promise of a life without thorns, but a promise to face them together, hand in hand with wounds.
© Shuvranil Sanyal, 2024
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