Blue Notes of Gratitude
Sarah parked her car outside her father’s house in Penang, holding the bouquet gently against her chest. The evening sunlight cast a soft glow over the blue-white blooms. Roses, delphiniums, orchids, carnations, arranged elegantly with cool-toned foliage. It looked calming, dignified, and strong.
Just like him.
Her father, Rahim, wasn’t a man of many words. He didn’t say “I love you” often. He didn’t express affection with grand gestures. His love showed up through actions by repairing her car without telling her, leaving packets of food on her table when she was too tired to cook, waiting outside her workplace whenever she worked late.
He had been her constant even when she didn’t realise, she needed one and yet, she rarely said thank you. This week, when she received a promotion at her job in KL, every friend congratulated her. But the first call she got was from her father.
“Drive safely, ya? I’m proud of you,” he said quietly, trying not to choke on the last sentence. That was the moment she knew, she needed to come home. Not for a celebration. Not to show off her milestone. But to thank the person who held her life steady long before she found her own footing.
So, she stopped by White On White, the best florist in KL, to find something worthy of him. The florist suggested this bouquet, the elegant, masculine, soothing. The calm blue tones symbolised respect. The white blooms presenting gratitude and the orchids presenting strength.
It felt perfect. When Sarah stepped into the house, she saw her father in the living room fixing a broken fan, as usual. “Dad…” she called. He looked up, surprised to see her standing there with an armful of flowers. “For you.”
“For me?” His eyebrows shot up. “A bouquet? Why?” She placed it gently on the table. “Because I never thank you properly. For supporting me for so many years. For everything you’ve done that I never acknowledged.” He blinked slowly, like he wasn’t sure how to react. “Sarah… you don’t have to…”
“I want to,” she said softly. “You taught me to be strong. You protected me. You made sacrifices I didn’t see until I grew older. And I want you to know that I’m grateful.” Her father’s hands hovered over the bouquet, unsure whether to touch something so beautiful, so delicate. But when he finally did, he smiled. A small, quiet smile she hadn’t seen in a long time. “These flowers are… very nice,” he murmured. “Thank you, dear.”
They sat together, talking about her promotion, his projects, and life in a way they hadn’t in years. The bouquet remained on the table, softening the room with shades of blue that felt peaceful, almost healing.
