1 PROLOGUE

As she steps out of her car with the help of her driver, she gazes up at the looming building in front of her with an expression of melancholy on her pale face. People stream in and out, some carrying leaflets and sporting impressed smiles or talking in low voices. Gripping her crutches tightly, she makes her way up the stairs, hoping against hope that the reporters wouldn't miraculously spot her.

Oh, what wishful thinking!

Like moths to a flame, reporters and photographers swoop in on her just as the wooden base of her crutches grazes the cemented steps. The paparazzi flash their cameras at her; momentarily blinding her, and bombarding her with question after question even though her driver did his best to clear a path for her.

Maybe she should have listened to her family and hired some bodyguards?

She smiles politely like she always did, resisting the urge to scowl at them in irritation. Her ears were already ringing with the same old inquiries; her eardrums might just explode at any moment.

"Miss Cadighan! Do you think you'll be able to continue your career in the long run?"

That one question makes her stop in her tracks. A sense of nostalgia and anguish washes over her. Things could never be the same again, she reminds herself. Her passion, her desire for the spotlight; she will never be able to recapture them again. A year ago, this would have devastated her tremendously - she lived for the attention (however, the same cannot be said about the kind of attention she had garnered NOW), but she was grateful.

Grateful for life.

With a neutral expression on her face, she faces the reporters, "My broken leg is nothing compared to the loss of many lives. Every one of you should be grateful for the lives you have now."

With that, she turns away and proceeds towards the entrance of the building, leaving the flashing paparazzi behind her. The reporters don't follow.

Her driver expresses his concern, "Madam? Shall I accompany you inside?"

"No, thank you, Charles. They won't follow me anymore, except maybe when we leave. I can manage on my own," she reassures him with a smile. Charles leaves with a worried look, while she gazes up at the banner hanging over the brick entrance.

‘In my memories’

Exhaling shakily, she enters the gallery, her body growing cold despite the warm weather. A serene quiet fills the room as she took in the sight. People were admiring the paintings on display that were illuminated by spotlights on the walls in hushed voices or in complete silence, showing their deep respect for the art.

For the first time that day, she smiles to herself. It seems to her that the silent admirers were intently listening to the stories each painting told. She observes the guests with profound interest for a few minutes, studying their expressions and reactions to the paintings carefully, even as she keeps a blank expression on her own face.

Afterward, she herself wanders through the halls, marveling at the paintings, recalling the fond and bitter memories connected with each one. She had seen the paintings countless times before setting them up, but now, it was as though she was seeing them for the first time.

Some guests recognize the elegant lady on crutches admiring the artwork with a sad smile, but they gave her space and stopped themselves from approaching her.

She explores the first floor of the gallery for half an hour before deciding to proceed. Gripping her crutches tightly, the woman starts making her way up the stairs to the second floor. Despite being offered help by a young man, she courteously declines and makes it to the next floor without any mishaps.

She halts to gather herself, taking deep breaths before continuing her tour, only to freeze suddenly, her eyes widening in surprise. There was a couple in their early forties with a small baby in the arms of the mother, standing in front of a painting that had garnered their complete attention.

She gulps and slowly steps to the side to see what painting had caught their attention.

A family of three –soon to be four if you regarded the figure of the woman who looked pregnant, was drawn in the painting, vibrant colors mixed to show the happiness of a young lady in the picture, who was hugging her father and pregnant mother with a huge wide smile that could illuminate the whole gallery if possible.

The woman who was looking at the painting bursts into sniffles unexpectedly, tears gushing down her face. The man holds his wife tightly, trying to comfort her while struggling to hold back his own tears, being mindful to not crush the little baby in between them.

She watches the couple with a broken heart. In a way, she related to their pain. She was about to continue her walk when the baby in the sobbing woman’s arms gazes upon her. The baby’s amber doe eyes hold her stare for a while with curiosity before breaking into a toothless, gummy smile.

Her heart beats against her chest wildly, and she holds her tears back as she gives the baby a wobbly grin, before quickly vanishing from their view.

She clutches the front of her top and takes deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. I will go talk to them after the seeing last painting, she thinks to herself, before steering in another direction.

As she makes her way through the final paintings on the last floor, her emotions were a mix of lightness and heaviness. Regardless of the grief in her heart, she felt a sense of closure from setting up the gallery, but she was unsure.

Maybe because she was yet to see the last piece.

The last piece that was kept in a single room, solely dedicated to it.

She stands outside the room, waiting for the guests to come out so she could admire the art in peace. And when they did, the guests came out with tears streaming down their faces, sadness etched on their expressions, and some even having serious and impressed faces.

Oh, how a painting that portrayed the greatest joy and happiness could also be the saddest of them all.

It was capable of stirring emotions that could overwhelm even the strongest of seas and bring tears to one's eyes.

She takes a deep breath before entering the room, which was illuminated by dim yellow lights. It made the painting that was in the middle of the room seem mystic and enchanting.

Soon enough, only she and a little boy whose attention was entirely focused on the artwork was left in the room.

She couldn't resist ruffling the boy's ash-blond hair, and he acknowledges her presence with a hum. But his eyes never leave the painting; he seems to be completely captivated by its beauty.

“It-” he begins to speak, breaking the silence, “It looks so real.”

“Amazing, right?” she admires, watching the painting with the boy.

The couple in the painting was evidently lost in a world of their own, dancing in a twirl amidst a sea of flickering fireflies in a field of purple fireweeds. Joining the fireflies was the mist from a towering waterfall from behind them, but they looked too lost in each other to notice their surroundings. The love in their eyes was so vividly encapsulated that it left her choking with emotion, she could barely hold back her tears. Damnit, she promised herself that she wouldn’t tear up today; but she had broken that promise twice already.

"I will buy this painting," the boy declares suddenly, jerking her out of her reverie.

"What was that again?" she asks, sniffling a little before meeting his gaze.

"I want to buy this painting," he repeats, his sturdy determination evident in his gray eyes. "I'll even make a separate room for it. You're welcome to visit it anytime you prefer."

This boy isn’t even a teenager yet, but he sounds so mature, she thinks as she marvels at the boy in amazement. Then it dawns on her that she had also turned out to be just like the boy - changed by her past experiences.

"Really? I can come anytime?" she humors him with a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The boy looks away with a scowl and red cheeks, muttering, "Obviously. You don't even have to ask."

Her chuckles echo throughout the room, then she returns her gaze to the painting with a sigh.

"Do you believe they were truly in love?" the boy asks softly as he intently watches the figures in the painting.

She examines the painting again and asks the little boy, “What do you think?”

"I want them to be in love,” the boy whispers so softly that she didn’t almost hear him, "so that they never felt alone during their final moments."

She looks back at the artwork in front of her. On a plaque inscribed in gold was the name of the painting;

‘In My Last Memory, You Will Never Be Forgotten.’

She stares at the words for a while. "I don't think they ever felt lonely," she soothes him with a smile, placing a comforting hand on the top of his head. "They had people who cared for them, don't you think?"

The boy nods, a tear beginning to stream down his face. "Will-Will I ever find love like theirs?" he asks suddenly, looking up at her.

She is startled by the unanticipated question but manages to muffle a laugh. "Why? Do you want to find love now?" she teases lightly.

"I don't want to feel lonely."

All traces of teasing disperse from her mind at the boy's stifled words. She faces the boy and crouches in front of him, "You'll find your special someone when the time is right; just like how they found each other. It might take a while, but it will happen eventually."

"Even for you?" the boy asks.

She hesitates for a moment before nodding slowly, "…Yes, even for me. But until then, I'll be here for you, so you don't have to be alone."

The boy agrees while wiping his tears, "Okay, I'll stay with you too, so you won't be lonely."

This kid…she thought to herself with a shake of her head and the little boy jumps into her arms. They embrace each other, reveling the comfort and company of each other.

As she looks up at the masterpiece on the wall, tears well up in her eyes again. She whispers, "I hope we all find a love like yours."

She fixes her gaze on the woman in the painting once more. There was a glimmer in the woman's eyes as her lover smiled down at her with starry eyes as if she was the center of his universe. Their eyes reflected their love into the dim-lit room. She smiles through her tears and hugs the little boy tightly.

'She' has finally drawn the stars.