My wife's at the market, and I'm drinking my coffee and looking out the window. The birds are chirping, the sun is lazily warming the ground, a man stops by the fence. He looks left and right, then climbs the fence and starts ripping off magnolias. I count them: one, two, three, four, five. He ties them with a white ribbon, then leaves. His romantic gesture moves me. The day passes peacefully, then, in the evening, when I enter the bedroom, I see on my wife's nightstand, in a vase, five magnolia flowers tied with a white ribbon.
Radu Gramatovici
I was in 10th grade when I saw the first one. My colleagues, gathered around her in the schoolyard, caught my attention. It was a young, boyish magnolia, with thin branches dangling up towards the sky and weaving themselves in braids with every gust of wind and white flowers which she proudly shook all around. I fell for her instantly, I even wrote her a poem which I read to her one evening, with a shaky voice. Keep it for someone else, she told me. You're a nice guy; I am a very desired magnolia.
Răzvan Dițescu
Come on, boy. Come, boy, buy a flower. Buy a flower for your princess. Phew, what a beauty she is. I don't wanna jinx you. What a beautiful match. Come one, boy. What can I get you? You really want nothing? Come, sir. Come on, sir, have a flower. For your lady. May your children be healthy. Help me so I can bring something home. I'm a widow. I have three kids. Help me put something on the table. Please, sir. Please, sir. Nothing? Auntie, how much for a flower? What flower, honey? The one in your hair. What, this magnolia? It's free, sweetie. Take it.
(Translated by Raluca Sălcianu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.