Posted on by Pinkii Bakshi

13 Days To Bloom

Preeti had taken up gardening during the early days of the pandemic—a quiet hobby that slowly became a deep passion. Nurturing plants brought her peace amid the growing uncertainty, a sense of control, and something beautiful to care for. Everyone was either baking, binge-watching, or having existential crises. Preeti was taking care of these little greens.

Cut to now, 5 years later, she is still hooked.

Over the years, her balcony transformed into a mini jungle—jade, snake plant, areca palm, even the finicky maidenhair fern. She took pride in her plants, talking to them while watering, occasionally apologising when she forgot. They were her peace, her companions.

One sunny Sunday, she visited her favourite nursery after receiving a call about some new arrivals. “We have tended some new plants at the nursery for sale, you can come up tomorrow,” the nursery owner had informed Preeti.

Back home, she carefully arranged her fresh haul on the balcony—a yellow-rimmed snake plant, a ZZ (Zamioculcas zamiifolia) plant, a bright spider lily, and one with little heart-shaped leaves she couldn’t name. She was placing them on the balcony when she noticed it.

A cactus. Small. Chunky. Two thorny stems, and oddly, a bud right in the middle. But she hadn’t picked this one.

She double-checked the bill. It wasn’t listed. “Maybe they packed it by mistake, or was it complimentary?” she thought. For a moment, she remembered something her mother once said: “Don’t keep cactus at home. They bring negativity.”

Preeti had never fully believed in such things, but she also never wanted to tempt fate.

Still, the cactus looked harmless. Pretty, even. So, she placed it on her bedroom windowsill and forgot about it.

The next morning, she awoke to a surprise—a vibrant, rich, velvety red bloom had burst open overnight. It was stunning. The colour lifted her spirits instantly.

“Are you for real?” Preeti whispered.

She snapped a photo for her Instagram stories before heading to work.

Preeti ran a bookstore that dealt in fiction, nonfiction, academic, and a bit of everything. The rise of digital content had taken a toll, and lately, sales were dwindling. But giving up wasn’t an option. That very day, an unexpected email landed in her inbox: a bulk order—100 sets of books for a school library opening in a remote village of West Bengal.

She refreshed the email three times just to believe it.

“Impossible,” she whispered. “I didn’t even pitch to this school.” But she was ecstatic.

Returning home, she noticed the red bloom still glowing proudly on the cactus. The next morning, however, it had withered, its petals falling like silent goodbyes. Preeti felt a pang of loss, but also hope. The plant was alive with a small bud still wrapped in sepals. It would bloom again.

Thirteen days later, there was another bloom.

This time, a radiant yellow flower unfurled. Preeti was mesmerized. It was bright like sunshine.

That entire week had been heavy; her uncle was critically ill, and the family was desperately searching for a kidney donor. Every lead had turned cold.

The morning after the yellow bloom, as Preeti got ready for work, her phone rang. “Preeti, we found a match! We couldn’t reach Ashutosh, so we’re informing you. Please come to the hospital. The procedure needs to begin immediately.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. Relief, gratitude, and joy flooded through her as she stared at the yellow bloom. She called her husband Ashutosh and rushed to the hospital.

The following morning, the yellow flower had fallen giving way to another beautiful small bud. This time, she didn’t feel sad. She waited.

Thirteen days later, another bloom appeared.

But this one took her breath away.

It was black. Jet black. Glossy. Almost unreal.

She had never seen a flower like that before. Mysterious. Majestic. Ominous. Something about it unsettled her.

She went about the day as usual. The new books had arrived—crisp, clean copies meant for the school library. Preeti had stored them temporarily in a small storage room a few meters away from her bookstore. She was supposed to start sorting them today.

Her phone rang just as she was brewing her morning tea. It was her assistant, breathless.

“Ma’am… there’s a fire. The storage room—it’s… it caught fire. The fire department’s already here.”

Preeti’s heart dropped.

She didn’t wait to process it. She grabbed her keys and ran.

By the time she reached, the fire trucks were parked outside the narrow lane.

Smoke was still curled into the air. A small crowd had gathered. Firefighters were dousing the last stubborn flames.

She saw the charred remains of the cartons through the broken frame of the door.

She froze.

Books—hundreds of them. Her biggest order in months. Burnt.

She stepped forward, then back. Her hands shook. Her breath caught in her throat. Her dreams had crashed before they even took flight.

Someone called her name, but it came from far away.

Everything went black.

When she opened her eyes, she was home.

Ashutosh was sitting beside her, eyes full of worry, but his hand gently held hers.

“Preeti,” he said softly, as she tried to sit up, “Don’t speak. Just listen.”

She blinked, confused, tears already welling.

“My warehouse is empty. Use it. We’ll reorder the books. We’ve built a corpus for times like these, we’ll bear the loss.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued in his warm and steady voice.

“And don’t even worry about the deadline. The school trustee called after hearing about the fire. He is such a kind soul. He immediately offered a generous extension. No penalties. Just asked if you were okay.”

Preeti looked away, eyes glassy.

She was okay. But she was also devastated.

That night, she walked into her room, her gaze landing on the cactus on the windowsill.

The black flower stared back at her, still, silent, too beautiful to be trusted.

She didn’t say anything.

She simply picked up the pot and placed it outside her house on the street.

The next morning, Preeti woke up feeling a bit better. She instinctively looked at her windowsill. But the cactus was gone. She did not think much and carried on with her day.

That evening, Ashutosh came home early with the news of a promotion. He is the Vice-President of his company now. He was over the moon. Preeti smiled again. Her mood lightened, and suddenly, she thought of the cactus.

She ran outside, but it was gone. Someone must have picked it up. Or maybe the street cleaner swept it away.

Later, over chai, Preeti told Ashutosh everything.
About the cactus. The blooms. The timings. The red. The yellow. The black.
He listened patiently, then chuckled. “So what now? You think it was some… cosmic plant?”

She smiled, half-embarrassed. “I don’t know. It felt real.”

He reached across the table, squeezed her hand. “Maybe it was. But you still fought, worked, and hoped. You were the one who bloomed.”

In that moment, Preeti realized the truth.

She had been attaching meaning to every bloom and every fall. She had started drawing connections between life’s randomness and a silent plant.

It was human nature to seek patterns, especially in the uncertain. But joy and sorrow, loss and gain, love and fear—they all came as they were meant to.

The cactus wasn’t magic. It wasn’t cursed either.

It was just a plant.

PS: This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla.

PS: This post is part of #BlogchatterBlogHop

47 Replies to “13 Days To Bloom”

  8. What a beautiful allegory: Preeti’s mysterious cactus blooms becoming quiet omens of hope, grief, and resilience feel like a gentle reminder that life’s timing isn’t ours to control, but our response is. That moment she moves the plant outside? Pure symbolism: sometimes letting go brings the bloom back to us.

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  10. What a lovely story. We always find a pattern and an external means to attach success and failures to, though our mind and thoughts alone are responsible for it all. A thought-provoking story.

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  12. The way Preeti’s journey with the cactus mirrors the ups and downs of life, it’s simple but so powerful. That mix of hope, loss, and resilience feels so real. Loved how the story reminds us that sometimes, it’s not about magic but about what we do through the chaos.

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  15. That was wonderfully written and conceptualised.I was engaged till the very end , initially thinking it was a post about the loves of gardening but later having a cosmic twist. But So many things happening with every bloom does seem to be connected and what cactus has multi-coloured blooms , they bloom rarely and after a lot of care.

    I loved the last line – it was just a plant. It imbibed so much meaning.We depend too much on a favourite corner or a cup or plant and attach meaning to it though it was ‘just us’ all the time.

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  16. We all have such cactuses in our lives, don’t we? Lovely story that highlights our tendency to attach meaning to things which probably have no relevance in the larger scheme.

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  17. Such a beautifully written story, I was completely hooked till the end. Loved how the blooms were tied to life events, and that final realization hit just right. Sometimes, we really do need reminders that not everything has meaning… and yet, everything somehow matters.

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  18. Excellent!…. so what I can see here in this story is that Cactus stood as a symbol of patience to see a promising growth. Being a Occult science practitioner I can relate this cactus which is a slow blooming flower plant like planet Saturn which teaches patience and hardwork to witness a positive transformation in you at the end of the transit. Well penned

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  20. What a lovely and poetic reflection! The idea of unfolding slowly each day has me thinking about my own personal “bloom.” I appreciate the gentle encouragement to honor each phase of growth. There’s no early or late bloom, it’s the ‘blooming’ that matters.

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  23. Such a beautiful metaphor! “13 Days to Bloom” reminded me that growth takes time, patience, and trust in the process. Your words felt gentle yet powerful—just what I needed today.

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