—Two Years Ago —
The room is a cathedral of light and longing.
Floor-to-ceiling windows open onto a garden where colorful roses climb toward the sky. Sunlight pours through in golden rivers, warming the polished marble floors, catching the edges of crystal vases, setting the dust motes adrift in lazy spirals.
The air smells of paint and jasmine—of creation and memory intertwined. Every wall, every surface, every corner of this room holds him.
Ellis.
His face watches from everywhere.
Some are photographs—captured moments stolen by someone with a careful eye. Ellis in his high school uniform, blazer unbuttoned, tie pulled loose, sitting on the street patting a puppy. Ellis in a café, steam rising from a cup between his fingers, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the café window. Ellis in a park, autumn leaves caught mid-fall around him like a curtain of gold and rust, his smile soft, unguarded, almost shy.
Others are paintings.
