CHAPTER 1- A VALENTINE DAY BETRAYAL

For as long as I can remember, roses have been seen as the quintessential symbol of beauty—gifts meant for the slender, delicate girls who seem to float through life with grace and elegance. It's as though the scent of roses follows their every step. On the other hand, for girls like me—the chubby ones—the world expects us to be cheerful, as if our joy is the only currency we can trade to win affection.

I used to believe this with all my heart. After all, what chance does a sunflower like me have when standing next to a rose? But then something miraculous happened. I met him.

My name is Sarah Adams, a second-year college student majoring in the sciences. My boyfriend, Matthew is also in his second year, but he's studying social sciences. For the past four months, we've been navigating life together, and against all odds, we've been going strong.

It's not just that he loves me—it's the way he loves me. Despite my insecurities, despite my sunflower petals in a world obsessed with roses, Matthew sees me. Truly sees me. When we're together, it doesn't matter that I don't fit society's mold of perfection. I am enough for him, just as I am.

Today was one of those days I looked forward to the most. We had planned to spend time doing what we loved: playing silly phone games and simply being in each other's company. Of course, I had also bought him a little something—just a token of my affection.

As I got ready, a familiar wave of self-doubt crept in. Would he still love me if I were thinner? Prettier? More like the roses the world idealizes ? But then I shook my head, banishing the thought. No. Matthew had shown me time and again that he loved me for who I was.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, smoothing down the soft yellow dress I had chosen for the day. The color reminded me of a sunflower field basking in the sun—bold, unapologetic, and radiant in its own way.

As I walked out the door, gift in hand, my heart was light. I wasn't a rose, and I didn't need to be. I was a sunflower, and in Matthew's eyes, I was just as beautiful.

Because love doesn't discriminate between roses and sunflowers. Love blooms wherever it's nurtured, and in the garden of our hearts, we had planted something extraordinary.Sunflowers and Roses

Love blooms in strange and beautiful ways—or so I thought. For four months, my relationship with Matthew felt like proof of that—a chubby sunflower basking in the affection of someone who seemed to see her worth. He was my everything, and I believed I was his.

Valentine's Day was meant to be perfect. I had planned it all—something simple yet thoughtful. I even bought a gift to make our evening special. But as the day unfolded, excitement gave way to worry. By noon, Matthew still hadn't called, and my messages were left unanswered.

I tried reaching him—calling repeatedly and sending countless texts. Each attempt was met with silence or the sting of being ignored. Hours passed before an SMS finally arrived: "I think we should break up. I need to focus on my studies."

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. My hands shook as I reread the message, hoping it was some cruel mistake. Then, another notification lit up my phone. This time, it was from a friend. It was a picture of Matthew, sitting in a restaurant, smiling across the table at another girl.

She was beautiful—slender, graceful, the kind of girl who seemed to carry the scent of roses wherever she went. My heart shattered. The truth was undeniable: Matthew had moved on, and he'd chosen a rose over a sunflower.

Refusing to believe it, I decided to confront him. The next day, I went to his house. My heart raced as I knocked on the door, clinging to the hope that he'd explain it all away. When Matthew opened the door, his face was guarded, and he glanced nervously over his shoulder.

"She's asleep," he said curtly, stepping outside and shutting the door behind him.

"She? Who's asleep?" I asked, confusion twisting in my chest.

"My girlfriend," he replied without hesitation.

The air left my lungs. "If she's your girlfriend," I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, "then what am I to you?"

He laughed—a cruel, mocking sound that cut through me like glass. "You? You're not my type," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "You're too big for me. She's worth my time. You're not. Like you always say, you're a sunflower and I'd choose a rose over a sunflower any day."

His words sliced through me, leaving me raw and exposed. For a moment, I felt like I might collapse under the weight of his rejection. But even in my pain, I knew I couldn't let him see me break.

I straightened my spine, held my head high, and walked away without another word. Tears threatened to fall, but I swallowed them back, determined to preserve my dignity.

If Matthew couldn't love a sunflower, then he didn't deserve to be near one. Because sunflowers may not have the delicate allure of roses, but they turn their faces toward the sun and bloom unapologetically.