Synopsis : This is a story about a humble florist named Premshankar and his neighbor called Vilayati-Ji, the Perfume-Shoppe Owner.

Image Courtesy : User named 'Jeb Buchman' from the website 'Unsplash'.

Confession : I swear on my genitals; I've not used any kind of an A.I tool for writing this story, other than the grammar-check. I'd be castrated by God, If I lie.
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Flowers Blossomed :

There lived a saintly Florist by the name 'Premshankar' in some remote part of India. Cultivating flowers was the chiefest joy of his life. He was in his early 40s and had no family at all. His parents had passed away long ago. And he hadn't married.

Though before perishing in peace, his father left him many acres of their ancestral land, to his only son. Premshankar, being fascinated with flowers very early, dreamt of turning his entire property into a 'Flower farm'. True to his goal; he achieved a Botany doctorate from the most prestigious Academia of his state after which he returned to his land, to fulfill his dream.

After many years of sweat, toil, and dedication his entire farm became a literal man-made heaven on Earth. It was a hidden gem within the vast country. Everywhere an eye could gaze, they'd only find arrays upon arrays of Roses, Tulips, Orchids, Jasmines, Sunflowers and Carnations, among many other flowers in his farm. To him all his flowers were like his own children, emanated straight out of his heart, which is why he nurtured all of them the most, more than he took care about his own hygiene.

Luckily Premshankar's home and farm fell en...