Chapter 2: The Burial

His mother's funeral had been a dark and silent event. Thomas, dressed in a small black suit that was too big for him, had felt lost among the grieving adults. He didn't really understand what was happening, but he felt a deep sadness. His mother, the one who had always encouraged his passions, was no longer there.

The days that followed were a slow scroll of gray and silent days. Thomas withdrew more and more into his inner world, drawing for hours to forget his pain. He found a particular comfort in art, as if he could express everything he couldn't say.

The walls of his room, once white and immaculate, were now covered with drawings. Dreamlike landscapes, melancholic portraits, fantastical creatures... Each pencil stroke was an escape, a way to escape from a reality that seemed increasingly heavy to him.

One night, he decided to talk to his father, Eric. He found him in his office, buried in files.

"Dad, can I talk to you?" Thomas asked hesitantly.

Eric looked up from his papers and smiled at his son. "Sure, boy. What's wrong with you?"

Thomas hesitated for a moment longer before starting. "I... I don't know what to do with my life. Mom's gone and I feel lost."

Eric stood up and sat down next to him. He put an arm around his son's shoulders. "I know it's hard, Thomas. But you should know that I'm here for you, no matter what."

There was a long silence. Then Eric continued: "You know, your mother loved your drawings. She said you had incredible talent. She dreamed of opening an art gallery to exhibit your work one day."

Thomas looked up, surprised. "Really? But... I'm not an artist."

Eric smiled. "Yes, you are. You have a gift." He stood up and crossed the room to a wall. There was a painting hanging, protected by a glass pane. It was Thomas's drawing as a child, surrounded by his parents, smiling. "Do you remember this one? Your mother always hung it here."

Thomas was moved. He didn't know what to say.

"I'm going to make his dream come true, Thomas. I'm going to open an art gallery and exhibit your work there. It will be our way of paying tribute to him."

Thomas nodded, tears in his eyes. He suddenly felt less alone. Days passed, then months, and Thomas continued to draw. He felt more alive than ever. He felt like his mother was always with him, through his art.

Two years passed like this, one evening, while he was immersed in his sketches, he heard a slight noise at the window. He stood up and approached, intrigued. He opened the latter and saw a beautiful young girl, Thomas with his 23 years of existence should not have found a child of this age pretty, nevertheless his young hormones were not of this opinion, he ran and left his house to meet the young girl

A little girl, barely taller than him, was sitting on the stairs of the house opposite. She had curly blond hair and deep blue eyes. She was wearing a pristine white dress and patent blue shoes.

"Hello," she said in a soft voice.

Thomas jumped, surprised that she took the lead. "Um, hello, who are you?" he asked.

The little girl smiled at him. "My name is Annie January."