Roses are Red - By Anjna Iyer

Written By: anjna iyer

Category: Short Story

Competition: Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the dynamic world of creative writing, Anjna Iyer presents her short story, "Roses are Red," a compelling narrative submitted to the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This story delves into the intricate dance of relationships, betrayal, and the quest for emotional fulfillment. Anjna's piece captivates readers with its vivid portrayal of human emotions and the stark reality that love is often more complex than it appears.

About the Work

"Roses are Red" vividly paints a scene of emotional turmoil, where love and betrayal intersect in a hotel lobby. Anjna Iyer explores themes of trust, expectation, and the yearning for choice in relationships. The narrative's mood is charged with tension and introspection, using powerful dialogue and imagery, such as the striking display of roses, to underscore the story’s emotional depth and the fragility of human connections.

Roses are Red

Original Submission by anjna iyer

Roses are Red

After a heavy breakfast buffet and morning work call with my editor, I sat by the pool observing the hotel lobby swarm with people and then fall silent. The center display of roses caught my attention for they were absolutely stunning. Roses have a way with people that people themselves do not.

It was then that I saw a man storm towards the pool close to where I was seated with an iced-coffee and laptop. I heard him mumbling to himself or maybe he was on call with his airpods on. He looked furious, enraged and spectacularly violated.

“Sahil,” said she walking swiftly behind him.

“You bitch, you bloody bitch.” He fumed.

“Let us leave Sahil. We can talk.”

“You insidious soul. You had been cheating on me, all this while.” He shouted.

He was reduced to tears now as he raised his voice.

“You told me that you are going on a work trip. This is your work trip? Sleeping with a random man?”

“Please, don’t make a scene Sahil.”

I tried hard not to look into their direction but then I soon realized that I was not the only one drawn into their drama. A few other hotel guests were as vested in it as I was.

She proceeded to touch his hand which he jerked off violently and burst out, “What haven’t I done for you Preeta? I gave you everything. More than anything you could have made yourself.”

“You wanted to move to Mumbai, away from me and I rented an apartment for you close to your work, didn’t I?”

“I paid for our international trips and fancy staycations.”

Thus, began his list of things that he had given her; from jewellery to good sex! While Ms Preeta was silent. She was indeed remorseful and felt guilty. She was visibly upset. Yet regret was not what I could trace on her face.

Mr Sahil started pacing up and down the poolside. Unbothered by the scene that he was causing. He was distraught and heartbroken. He kept calling her names and mumbling that he had been violated of trust and love.

Then suddenly he moved closer to her and cupped her face with his hands and uttered, “didn’t you love me, Preet?”

“I love you, Sahil. Very much.”

“Then how could you break my heart into a million little pieces. It hurts so much,” he said withdrawing his hands from her face.”

He then walked towards me and demanded, “Do you think she did the right thing by sleeping with another man? Is this what women are being taught by their parents these days? Isn’t there any integrity in Indian women anymore?”

I did not bother validating his long soliloquy with a response.

He walked back to her and held his own head while crying. A tall and handsome Indian man looked meek and fragile right in front of the glorious red roses.

Then entered two well dressed men. One tall and lanky while the other slightly shorter and heftier.

One of them held Sahil and urged him to leave with them. While the other went to Preeta and started speaking to her softly. I could not make out what he was saying to her. It was however, certain that he was asking her to leave as well.

“Please take him away from here. He is causing a scene in public.” She said audibly.

“When you needed money, or love or affection and attention, you were never so conscientious, Preeta. While you went to bed with another man or maybe men, how am I to know, where was this righteousness?” shouted Sahil.

“Calm down, Bhai.” the lanky fellow retorted.

“Chup reh yaar! Bas chup reh!” Cried Sahil to his friend.

The friend fell silent.

For a few moments, there was only the sound of the swimming pool filtration system and the clinking of crockery from the breakfast area behind us.

et the four people standing beside the pool seemed to exist in a world of their own.

Sahil wiped his face with both hands and looked at Preeta.

She stood completely still.

I had expected her to cry. To scream. To defend herself. To apologise. Anything.

Instead, she looked tired.

Not regretful. Tired.

I secretly admired her composure.

“You know what the worst part is? You know what really hurts?” Preeta looked at him.

“That after everything I did for you, you still chose someone else.”

She opened her mouth but said nothing.

“Answer me!”

“I don't know what you want me to say.”

“The truth!”

“The truth?”

She gave a strange little laugh.

A kind of laugh that escapes when a person has been pushed beyond the point where crying is useful.

“The truth is that I have been telling you the truth for three years.”

Sahil stared at her blankly and His friends exchanged a glance.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I have been asking you the same question for three years.”

“What question?”

Preeta looked down.

“When?” Sahil frowned. “When what are you saying?”

“When are you going to choose, Sahil?”

Sahil's face hardened. “Don't do this now, Preeta, Because you are trying to justify what you did.”

“I'm not justifying it.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I'm explaining it.”

He laughed bitterly.

“There is no explanation for cheating.”

“No,” she said quietly. “There isn't.”

Sahil seemed to have nothing to say now.

“But there is an explanation for why I stopped believing you, sahil.”

I noticed that she had begun rubbing the fingers of her left hand together nervously. There was no ring on it.

Sahil noticed too.

“You knew what I was when you met me. You knew I was married. And you still came into my life. So don't stand there and act like the victim, Preeta.”

“You knew I had children and You knew I couldn't just walk out.”

Preeta looked at him for a long moment.

Sahil looked away.

“Sahil, you told me your marriage was over, Don’t you remember all the lies that you spun about your wife?”

“You told me you were sleeping in another room.”

“I was and I still am,” defended Sahil.

“You told me you were going to leave.”

Sahil said nothing.

“You told me that every month for three years.”

The two men standing beside him looked increasingly uncomfortable.

I looked towards the roses.

They were still there. Perfect. Red. Unblemished. Almost offensively beautiful.

Three dozen roses, perhaps more, arranged in enormous white vases near the entrance. Their petals were so flawless that they looked artificial.

Roses have a way with people that people themselves do not.

Flowers never had to explain themselves.

“I gave you everything,” Sahil said again, though this time his voice had lost its earlier force.

Preeta nodded. “I know.”

“Then what more did you want?”

She looked at him and after a pause came, “Commitment.”

He scoffed. “I committed to you.”

“No.” She took a breath. “You committed to keeping me.”

“You wanted the apartment. I gave you one.”

“I needed a home, Sahil.”

“I took you on holidays.”

“I wanted a life.”

“I bought you jewellery.”

“I wanted you to introduce me to your friends.”

“You had everything.”

“I had everything except you.”

He looked at her.

“You knew what you were getting.”

“No, Sahil.”

Her voice trembled now.

“I knew what you told me I was getting.”

There was silence again.

A waiter walked past us carrying a tray of glasses. He glanced at the group and immediately looked away.

I wondered how many stories this hotel had witnessed. How many marriages had begun here. How many had ended. How many people had stood beside this same pool and promised forever.

Preeta turned away.

“I should go.”

Sahil reached for her wrist.

She immediately pulled it away.

“Don't.”

He stopped.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other.

Then Preeta said something so quietly that I almost didn't hear it.

“You never bought me roses.”

Sahil blinked. “What?”

“The roses.”

She pointed towards the lobby.

“You remember the day you sent me three dozen?”

He frowned.

“I've sent you flowers plenty of times.”

“No.” She smiled faintly.

“You sent those once.”

“I don't remember.”

“I do.”

She looked at the roses.

“You sent them to my office.”

“And?”

“I thought they meant you had finally made a decision.”

“What decision?”

“To leave her.”

Sahil's jaw tightened.

“I never said that.”

“You didn't have to.”

She looked at him.

“You sent me flowers on your wife’s birthday.”

His face changed. For the first time that morning, he looked genuinely ashamed.

Preeta laughed softly.

“Do you remember now?”

Neither of them spoke.

The shorter man lowered his head.

I suddenly felt like I was intruding on something much more intimate than the confrontation I had witnessed minutes earlier.

“Why didn't you leave?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Both of them turned towards me. It was the first time I had spoken.

Sahil looked annoyed.

Preeta looked almost surprised.

“Leave him?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Leave the situation.”

She looked at the roses again.

“I tried.” Her voice was barely audible.

“I left twice.”

Sahil immediately interrupted. “And you came back.”

“Yes.”

“Exactly.”

She turned towards him. “Because you came after me.”

He looked away.

“You promised me.”

“What did I promise?”

“That things would change.”

“They did.”

“No.”

Her voice became firmer.

“They changed temporarily. That's not the same thing.”

Sahil's friend placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Bhai, enough yaar.”

Sahil shrugged him off. “No. Let her finish.”

Preeta took a deep breath.

“I waited for you.”

“For what?”

“For a date.”

He looked confused.

“A date?”

She smiled sadly.

“The day you were supposed to tell me that you had spoken to your wife. The day you were supposed to tell me that you were finally choosing a life with me.”

Sahil said nothing.

“You cancelled.”

“I had a family emergency.”

“You went to Goa with your family.”

His friends looked at him.

Preeta continued. “Your daughter had a dance competition.”

He lowered his eyes.

“I saw the pictures.” She swallowed.

“You were smiling.”

I looked at Sahil.

He looked suddenly much older than he had ten minutes ago.

“That's when I understood,” Preeta said. “You weren't confused.” She paused. “You were comfortable.”

“You had your wife. You had your children. You had me. You had your work. You had your holidays. You had your apartment. You had everything arranged exactly the way you wanted it.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “And I was the only person waiting.”

Sahil sat down heavily on one of the pool chairs.

The anger seemed to drain out of him.

“You could have told me,”he whispered.

“I did.”

“You could have waited.”

“I did.”

“You could have given me more time.”

“I gave you three years.”

He looked up at her. “Then why did you do it?”

Preeta didn't answer immediately.

When she finally did, her voice was almost a whisper. “Because I wanted to know what it felt like to be chosen.”

Sahil stared at her.

She wiped her cheek. She looked towards the hotel entrance.

I glanced at the roses again. Their petals were beginning to catch the harsh morning sunlight.

Beautiful. Fragile. Cut from their roots and arranged to look alive. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about them.

“Who was he?” Sahil asked.

Preeta looked at him.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know.”

“No.”

“You owe me that.”

She shook her head.

“I don't owe you his name.”

“You owe me the truth.”

“I have given you the truth.”

He stood.

“Then tell me.”

Preeta looked directly at him. “I didn't need your apartment. I didn't need your jewellery. I didn't need your expensive dinners. I didn't need your international holidays.”

She took another breath. “I needed you to choose me.”

Sahil's eyes were wet again.

“You knew I had a family.”

“Yes.”

“And you still wanted me.”

“Yes.”

“Then what makes you different from what you accuse me of?”

Preeta was silent. Perhaps there was no answer. Perhaps that was the point.

After a few seconds, she said:

“Nothing.”

She looked at him steadily. “That's why I'm leaving.” She turned around.

“Preeta.”

She stopped.

“I love you.”

Her shoulders stiffened. Then she turned.

“I know.”

“And?”

She smiled. “I loved you too.”

Past tense.

It was the smallest change in a sentence, yet it seemed to end everything. She walked towards the hotel entrance. I watched her disappear through the glass doors.

Sahil remained beside the pool. His friends stood on either side of him.

No one followed her. No one called her back.

And for the first time that morning, the hotel was completely silent.

I looked at the roses. They were still magnificent. But now I noticed something I hadn't before.

Their stems were hidden beneath the arrangement. There were no roots.

Only flowers.

Beautiful things, I realised, could survive for a surprisingly long time without anything holding them to the ground.

I closed my laptop.

The editor's comments could wait. I had something else to write about.

Roses are red.

But perhaps love isn't.

About the Competition

The Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar invites writers from around the world to showcase their literary talents. This prestigious event celebrates the art of storytelling, providing a platform for writers to explore diverse themes and express their unique voices. Participants engage in a creative journey, contributing to a vibrant community of literary enthusiasts.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Anjna Iyer for sharing her evocative short story, "Roses are Red," with the Hashtag Kalakar community. Her participation in the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 enriches our platform with its exploration of complex emotional landscapes. We look forward to seeing more of Anjna's insightful writing in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.