The garden of Silvercity Hospital smelled of wet earth and roses. George sat on a bench, his elbows on his knees, staring at the folded letter in his hands—the last message Mariana had sent before her departure to the small world.
"Don't stop growing, George. I'll be watching. I'll be cheering for you, even from far away. Love, always. — M."
He had read it over twenty times, and each time, a different sentence tugged at his heart. She had said she'd return, but hadn't given a date. And so, George did what she asked: he grew.
University was no longer a dream, it was his reality. He threw himself into his studies, driven by a hunger to build something meaningful. His professors admired his work ethic; his peers respected his quiet strength. He was no longer the boy broken by grief—he was becoming the man Mary had always hoped he'd be.
At night, when the world quieted, he would look up at the stars and whisper her name.
Lucia and John often visited, proud of the boy he had become. They spoke of Mary with more smiles than tears now, and George didn't shy away from those memories. He wore them like armor.He show is love opening regarding is Mother, she shape him.
Then came a call. Not from Mariana—but about her.
"She helped rebuild a community after a fire," the voice said, soft and amazed. "Your friend... she's incredible."
He smiled. Of course she was.
That night, he lit a candle by his window, not for mourning, but for hope. A flame in the darkness—a silent promise between two hearts waiting across worlds.