Ananya hated moving, leaving the familiar for the strange, the old for new. Wanted things to be as they were. Hated leaving her flowers.
Her husband loved it all. Couldn’t think of staying more than three years in a place. Loved the newness of it all, even the packing and unpacking!
His parents’ job entitled a move every three years. Hers had stayed rooted and grounded in one place all the time.
The movers had already unloaded their stuff and gone. Fumbling with the unfamiliar knob, she pushed the door open.
She stopped breathing. They were breathtaking. It would be alright. She was home.
*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt, every week. Thanks for this week’s beautiful photo prompt © Dale Rogerson