"Marcel, are you there?" Mrs. Remy, his mother, asked.
"Son, son," she called as she walked into his room and saw her son sitting on the sofa, lost in thought.
Walking over to him, she sat beside him and touched his shoulder, making him flinch.
"Mom," Marcel said, startled.
"Yes, it's me. What are you thinking of?" she asked.
"Nothing, Mom. I'm just remembering something," Marcel said.
"Oh, and what is it?" she asked.
Marcel hesitated before responding, "Look, Mom, if there's something bothering me, I'll tell you, okay? Don't worry."
His mother sensed that something was amiss. "Son, if there's something bothering you, you can tell me. Don't hide things inside and keep them to yourself. Lately, I've noticed you spacing out, even when you're eating. What's wrong, my child?" she asked, her voice filled with love and concern.
"Mom, it's just something I'll tell you when the time is right, not now," Marcel said, looking at his mother.