In the dim, wavering light of a dream, a small boy stood by a flower stall, clutching a handful of coins. His voice trembled as he spoke to the shopkeeper. “Sir, today is my mums birthday I want to buy flowers, but I dont have enough money” The man behind the counter hesitated, then handed the boy a bouquet. Later, when the man visited the cemetery, he saw those same flowers resting on a grave.
Oliver had just turned five when his world shattered. His mother was gone. He stood in the corner of the parlour, bewildered by the hushed voices, the sombre faces, the way people clasped his shoulder and murmured, “Be brave, lad,” as if hed lost something irreplaceable. But he hadnt lost hershe was simply not there. His father drifted through the house like a ghost, hollow-eyed and silent, never touching him, never speaking.
When Oliver peered into the coffin, he didnt recognise the woman inside. She was cold, still, nothing like the warm presence whod sung him to sleep. He shrank back, afraid.
Life turned grey. Two years later, his father remarried. Margaret, the new wife, had no patience for him. She nitpicked, scolded, found fault in everything he did. His father never intervened.
Years passed, but the ache never faded. On the morning of his mothers birthday, Oliver woke with a single thought: he had to see her. He needed white liliesher favourite. He remembered them in old photographs, cradled in her hands.
But he had no money. He approached his father. “Dad, could I have a bit of cash? I need”
Margaret cut in sharply. “Money? Again? Dyou think pounds grow on trees?”
His father barely glanced up from his paper. “Margaret, leave it.” Then, to Oliver: “What for?”
“Flowers. For Mum. Its her birthday.”
Margaret scoffed. “Flowers! Pick some daisies from the gardenthatll do.”
“Theyre not the same,” Oliver said quietly.
His father sighed and turned back to his newspaper. The conversation was over.
Oliver retreated to his room, dug out his old piggy bank, and counted his meagre savings. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.
He hurried to the florists, his heart leaping at the sight of the lilies in the windowpearl-white, almost glowing. The woman behind the counter eyed him with suspicion. “Lost, are you? No sweets here, only flowers.”
“Id like the lilies, please. How much?”
The price was more than he had. “Please,” he begged, “Ill work for them. Sweep, cleananything.”
The woman snorted. “Get out before I call the authorities!”
A man stepped into the shop just then, frowning at the scene. “Whats all this shouting?”
The florist waved a hand. “This urchins trying to swindle me!”
The man crouched beside Oliver. “Whats the matter, son?”
Oliver swallowed hard. “My mum she loved lilies. Todays her birthday. Shes gone, and II just wanted to bring her some.”
The mans face softened. “Your mum would be proud of you.” He turned to the florist. “Ill take two bouquetsone for him, one for me.”
Oliver clutched the flowers like treasure. “SirMr. JamesIll pay you back, I swear.”
James chuckled. “No need. Todays a special day for someone I care about too.” For a moment, his gaze grew distant.
Years ago, James and Emily had been neighbours, inseparable. When he was drafted, she wept. He promised to return. But an injury stole his memory. By the time it returned, Emily had moved on, married another man. Heartbroken, James left town.
Eight years later, hed returned, hoping to find her. And now, standing in this shop, hed met Olivera boy who loved the same flowers Emily had adored.
Later, at the cemetery, James found Emilys graveand on it, a bouquet of fresh lilies. His breath caught. “Oliver” he whispered. “Youre hers. Youre mine.”
He rushed back to the street where Oliver had pointed. The boy sat on a swing, kicking at the dirt. James knelt beside him. “Im sorry I wasnt here sooner.”
A man emerged from the houseEmilys husband, Thomas. He looked at James, then sighed. “I wondered if youd ever come. Hes yours, you know.”
Jamess throat tightened. “I know.”
Thomas nodded. “Take him. Emily always loved you. She wanted to find you but time ran out.”
James lifted Oliver into his arms, tears streaming. “Ill never leave you again.”
Oliver, wise beyond his years, simply said, “I knew youd come.”
And in that moment, the dream shifted, the edges blurring, as if the world itself sighed in relief.
