One quiet afternoon, as sunlight poured through the living room window, Lala sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through an old photo album. Her tiny fingers paused on a picture of her and Bibi — their smiles wide, their faces smudged with ice cream. “Mom,” she suddenly said, her voice soft but serious, “can we go visit Bibi’s old house?”
Mom looked up, surprised. It had been months since they’d last been there — ever since Bibi moved to a new town. “Why, sweetheart?” she asked gently. Lala’s eyes shimmered. “I miss how it smelled like flowers and cookies. I want to see if her garden still remembers me.”
Touched, Mom smiled and agreed. They packed some snacks and drove along the familiar road lined with golden trees. As the car stopped in front of the small blue house, Lala’s heart fluttered with both excitement and nostalgia. The once-busy garden was quiet now, overgrown but still beautiful.
Lala ran to the gate, crouching beside the faded rose bush Bibi used to tend. “Look, Mom! My little sunflower is still here!” she said joyfully, pointing to a lone stalk swaying in the wind. Mom nodded, her eyes softening. “Bibi would be so happy to know it’s still blooming.”
They walked around the house, remembering the laughter, the bedtime stories, and the warm hugs that once filled it. Lala picked a small flower and whispered, “For you, Bibi.” Then, turning to her mom, she smiled. “I feel like she’s here with us.”
Mom wrapped her arms around Lala. “She always is, darling — in every memory and every flower she planted.”
As they drove away, Lala looked back one last time. The blue house stood quietly under the sunset, glowing like a cherished memory — a gentle reminder that love, once planted, never truly fades.
