Some people never say the words "I love you;" it's not their style to be so bold. Some people never say the words "I love you;" but like a child, they're longing to be told.
It's time to definitely make her fall.

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine.

Operation: Make Polka-Dot Panties Fall

Roses are flowers. They are objects of attraction especially to girls—a core reason why guys often give the girls of their hearts such a beautiful thing. Despite them being inanimate, they also scream unspoken words; they also express unexpressed feelings; and they also share unshared thoughts.

Flowers have their own language. We—you—do not hear what they say, understand what they scream, and feel what they show. Once we study their language, though, we'd hear, we'd understand, we'd feel.

Roses have their own language.

Take for example the yellow rose that stands for friendship. If yellow is for friendship, take it that a red one . . . red stands for: "You are my first love, my last, and will always be the one."

Once you receive one red rose, that would mean you are his love from first sight. Once you receive six, his message wants you to know that he wants to be yours. If you receive thirteen, he tells you that he is your secret admirer. If he gives you twenty, he practically says, "Believe me, I am sincere towards you." And once he gives you three . . . well . . . isn't its meaning the most popular one?

What was your current problem? Your problem was that you received a mixture of those—a mixed number of those.

By your door, when you stepped out of your bed room, was one single long-stemmed red rose. Since you and Anna-chan and Nonoko-chan were talking about florigraphy just months ago, you knew what one red rose meant.

"I'm in love at first sight."

And the unspoken words created a suffocating lump in the pit of your stomach. It was annoying. Annoyance got the best of you so all you did was ignore its meaning although you found yourself having it in your hands, carrying it to your classroom.

When you reached your class, on your usual seat were six red roses.

"I wanna be yours."

And the statement they screamed bugged you until the end of morning class. The statement bugged you more than how a certain pair of crimson eyes bugged you the whole time you were sitting on your seat, listening lazily as the academy's teachers drawled on and on.

On your way to the cafeteria, alone, banded together were thirteen roses that were casually thrown to you by an unseen person. Like an electronic dictionary that would give you the meaning of certain words when you just type it in, you received its meaning within the blink of your eyes.

"You know what? I'm your secret admirer."

When you frowned and decided to turn around, on the tiled floor were twenty roses in a bouquet.

"Believe me, I am sincere towards you."

You picked the bouquet up and placed it together with the others in your already full hands. You were never good in Mathematics so it took you long enough to get the total of the roses in your hands. Forty roses. Red roses.

Frowning, you already got the idea. You already knew who was behind everything and yet you ignored the reality. This time, you wouldn't. You'd face him. Without further ado, you made your way towards that tree carrying the forty roses with you. You didn't heed the fact that students were staring at you oddly, whispering as you passed by.

And God, how right you were.

Standing beneath the same tree where you fell—literally—was Hyuuga Natsume. Smirking.

You never wished to be faint-hearted when in front of him. It would show that around him, you were weak. You didn't want to kill without any valid reason. It would connote that you were mentally retarded. You craved for the strength to push away these tickling feelings in your gut. It would just show that, now, you liked Hyuuga Natsume.

You sent your brain the very command not to make your knees wobbly that you could fall on the ground helplessly. Because you knew what he meant with those items in his hands.

Your hands could almost let go of the bouquets of roses. Your hands could almost find their way to your flushing face. But you couldn't.

You shouldn't show how affected you were.

Your chocolate-brown eyes stared at Hyuuga Natsume's right hand that was holding three red roses. And they yelled one thing.

"I love you."

"I—Why me, Natsume? I want the facts."

From his location, Natsume stepped closer. And smirked.

"I've already told you last night. But this time, what I want to say is . . . . Do not seek the because—in love, there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions. Stop denying, Mikan. There's something in you that likes—loves—me back."

Your eyes twitched. "I'm not denying! I'm just showing the truth that I'm not—and never—in love with you!"

Natsume could only shake his head. You know what was going on his mind. Perhaps he was already thinking that you were simply annoying—but amusing, nevertheless.

"Look. Some people never say the words 'I love you.' It's not their style to be so bold."

All you could do was stare. Your enmity stepped forward and neared you.

"Some people never say those words 'I love you.' But like a child, they're longing to be told."

This time, Natsume had already reached her. They were now mere inches apart.

"Don't deny that you, as a girl, had always dreamt of being told those words. Don't refute your wish to be told that."

Silence. Stare.

"It takes a lot of pride, Polka, just to say those."


"But I can't; yet roses can."

Within a blink of an eye, Natsume slipped. That was so not him. Natsume? Slipping? Those two words never seemed to fit in one sentence!

Before you could think of anything else, you were pulled down with the same thirteen-year-old boy you (now admitted) used to (still) love.

Within seconds, you found your forehead clashing with his.

"Tell me now, who—who am I to you?" you asked, staring at Natsume's blood-red orbs.

He merely smirked. "You're the girl I'm now promising to protect. You're the girl I used to love; I love; and I am to love."

You couldn't believe it. There was no way. Your eyes widened.

"You're the girl I always wished to fall."

Always wished to fall?

"To fall off a tree, to fall for the calculations, to fall for the roses . . . to fall for me."

And your mouth hung. Could thirteen-year-olds possibly do such a thing? You wonder . . . . Was Natsume thirteen or older?


Within seconds after that certain name was said, you felt your lachrymal glands produce some unwanted salty liquid. Tears. You hated crying. It was against your rules! But he said it! He said your name twice!

And yet . . . .

Being near him wasn't that bad, after all. At least, you knew there was something you feel towards him.

In the end, no matter how much you denied it, you still fell for the Hyuuga Natsume.

You still fell for THE Hyuuga Natsume who couldn't say the following:

Mikan, I am in love at first sight that I wanna be yours. I wanna be yours such that I am your secret admirer. Believe me, I am sincere towards you if I say . . .

Mikan, I love you.


Four years later, tears fell off from your eyes. Tears fell off from your eyes that were staring at the dried and dead forty-three roses that were kept inside a big wooden box.

You wondered why . . . .

You wanted to ask why . . . .

Natsume, if you truly loved me, love me, would love me . . . if you truly wish to protect me all the time . . . if you truly wish me to fall for you . . .

Natsume, tell me, then.

. . . Why did you leave? . . . Why did you leave the academy without your friends?

. . . Why did you leave alone? . . . What's the problem?

. . . Only one year more and we're graduated! . . . We can be together forever . . .

. . . Am I not enough?

Natsume . . .

. . . Why did you leave me?

Natsume . . . I've never said this before for four years but I . . .

Natsume . . .

. . . I love you, too.

But thinking about his name five times in your thoughts—saying his name five times—didn't bring him back to your life.

Operation: Show Him You Love Him Back . . . failed.

Alright! It's finished! Did you expect it to end that way?
Some of you might have (if you've read my SasuSaku "Operation: Make Forehead Fall") because said fanfiction ended that same way.
Ummm . . . . I do have a question. Do you want me to post an epilogue? It's up to you if you want or not . . . . Vote for it in my profile PLEASE!
Do visit my profile and vote in my poll and it will be up for one or two months so I can prepare (in case most said yes). Please? I want to know what you want so I can immediately tend to it.

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Thank you to the people who weren't listed above yet I know they read. Thank you to the people who kept silence as their company while reading this to prevent from either offending me or flattering me too much. Thank you to the people who read- I may not know you but still, thank you. And thank you, too, to the people who shared their thoughts and ideas- who sent me a feedback. :)

Most of all, a big thank you to YOU who read until the end.



p.s. some names with dots might have been obliterated so tell me if i left you out . . .