A Quiet Thank You
The afternoon sun in Penang was soft, casting a calm glow across the windows of the White On White boutique as Li Xuan stepped inside. She had passed by the shop many times before, admiring the bouquets from afar, but today felt different. Today, she was here with a purpose she had been avoiding for years. She needed to say thank you properly to her mother.
Li Xuan wasn’t very good at expressing emotions. Her mother, Wong, had always been quietly strong, the kind of person who carried the weight of the family without ever letting anyone see how much it cost her, and Li Xuan realised she had gone too long without acknowledging that.
She walked deeper into the boutique, the cool air calming her nerves. Rows of pastel flowers lined the shelves, each bouquet more beautiful than the last. But her eyes stopped on one white bouquet. Pure, soft, elegant. Roses, carnations, alstroemeria, orchids, baby’s breath. It looked like peace arranged into petals. Farah, the florist, approached her with a warm smile. “Looking for something special?”
Li Xuan hesitated before nodding. “It’s… for my mum. I want to thank her. Properly.” Farah’s smile softened. “White is perfect for that. It’s gentle, sincere… and very heartfelt kind of gratitude.” Li Xuan reached out, brushing her fingers against the petals.
Memories filled her mind:
Her mother drying her school uniform late at night, even when she was exhausted, saving money secretly just so Li Xuan could attend extra classes. Her mother’s quiet pride when Li Xuan graduated, even though she simply said, “Not bad ah.” And finally, her mother always pretending she didn’t need help but always giving it.
Li Xuan felt her eyes sting. “I should have said thank you earlier,” she whispered. Farah handed her the bouquet gently. “It’s never too late.”
Holding the bouquet felt like holding a piece of her heart, she imagined her mother’s face that surprised little smile she did whenever she received anything unexpectedly. Wong never asked for flowers, never asked for anything. But Li Xuan knew that mothers feel deeply, even in silence.
On her way home, Li Xuan rehearsed what she would say, but she knew her voice might fail her, and that was okay. The bouquet would speak for her. Not loudly, but warmly. Just like how her mother had loved her all these years.
That evening, when Wong opened the door, Li Xuan simply held out the white bouquet.
“For you, Mum. Thank you… for everything.”
Wong’s eyes softened and in her gentle nod, Li Xuan felt years of quiet love finally acknowledged.
Sometimes gratitude isn’t loud.
Sometimes it’s white, soft, and wrapped in calm ribbon.
And sometimes, it’s the bouquet that finally says what the heart has held for years.
