Furiously, he clutched the roses in his hand until thorns pricked his palm. She’s just late, he told himself, because they’d planned this weeks ago.

He sat on the edge of the fountain, and placed the flowers beside him. Why couldn’t she call to tell him she was running late? Unless she wasn’t coming at all,  he thought.  All the times she worked late and couldn’t make their dates; was that a sign? Maybe he was an idiot for not noticing that she was obviously through with him.

Frustrated at himself, he stood, abandoned the roses, and hailed a cab. With one gust of wind the roses were lifted from the ledge and thrown to the ground, bouncing like they were in slow motion. Deafened by the breaking of his heart, he was oblivious to the blonde sprinting towards him. The cab pulled away from the curb, smoke billowing behind it as he abandoned the girl he thought would never love him back. She fell to her knees, clutching the battered bouquet to her chest, heart breaking like the pieces of melted chocolate scattered by her feet.