The Greatest Showman - Chapter 1201
Her innocent words, though seemingly naive, carried a weight of understanding far beyond her years.
Paul was startled. "Annie? How did you know...?" His voice trailed off, unsure of how to continue.
Annie turned to him and spoke with quiet conviction. "Because Renly said not everyone can accompany you to the end of a journey. Sometimes, you have to finish it alone. Now, Heather has just embarked on her own journey, right?"
Though her words were incomplete, missing a clear beginning or end, Paul understood. He glanced at Renly before nodding hesitantly. "Yes... yes, that's right." Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. "Even though Heather is alone now, she'll always be the strongest, the brightest. Maybe she's somewhere, singing her heart out, living her dreams to the fullest. Don't you think Heather had a beautiful voice?"
"She did!" Annie smiled shyly. "I loved Heather's singing."
"Then, whose voice do you prefer—Heather's or Renly's?" Paul teased.
The little girl gasped, then dove into Paul's arms. "You did that on purpose! What kind of question is that?" She turned to Renly, eyes wide with mock indignation. "Renly, did you see that? Paul bullied me on purpose!"
Before Paul could defend himself, Renly nodded solemnly. "I saw everything. We're not talking to Paul tonight. He's not a good boy!"
Paul's mouth opened in protest. "You... I... what?" He threw up his hands in exasperation, then surrendered with a laugh. "Fine, fine! I admit my mistake. Annie, will you forgive me?"
Renly played along, nodding gravely. "Annie, do you forgive Paul?"
Annie tried to keep a straight face, but the act crumbled quickly. She covered her mouth to stifle her laughter, but the joy shone in her eyes. Seeing Paul's exaggeratedly pitiful expression, she finally relented, making a playful face before declaring, "I want to be an actor, not a singer!"
Paul chuckled, throwing up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I stand corrected!"
At that, Annie burst into laughter, her voice light and free. It was infectious, filling the space around them with warmth and ease. Renly watched her, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. Tonight's performance had given her something more than just entertainment—it had helped her find a dream, however fleeting it might be.
Of course, at her age, dreams were fluid, constantly shifting. But what mattered was that after all she had been through—family struggles, life changes—she had found something to hold onto, something to inspire her. Her smile was returning, little by little.
For an eleven-year-old, it was too cruel to demand maturity so soon. Let her chase her dreams, stumble and learn, grow at her own pace. That was the gentlest and truest path forward.
"Renly? Renly!"
The call pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to find Annie staring up at him, cheeks flushed but eyes bright.
"How did you do it?" she asked, slightly out of breath. "I mean, how did you become an actor? What do I have to do?"
Nathan, who had been chatting nearby, immediately noticed Renly's subtle gesture and hurried off. When he returned, he carried Annie's medication and a glass of warm water.
"Imitation," Renly explained, handing Annie the medicine. "That's the first step in acting. Every actor starts by learning to imitate. You can try mimicking animals or the people around you. It teaches you control, observation, and how to transform into someone else. That's your first step."
Annie obediently took her medicine and drank her water, eyes never leaving Renly. "Go on, keep talking!" she urged, eager for more.
Paul, noticing her enthusiasm, whispered to Nathan for another glass of water, just in case.
As they continued talking, the atmosphere around their booth remained lively. Annie was now captivated by Paul's stories about filming an ocean-based surfing movie, hanging onto every word. Out of the corner of his eye, Renly noticed a small group of people gathering near them. They hesitated, waiting politely, reluctant to interrupt.
Renly turned to acknowledge them.
Among them stood an elderly man, perhaps in his seventies or eighties, his face lined with deep wrinkles, his sparse white hair barely covering his scalp. He leaned on a cane, his back slightly bent, his frail frame trembling even as he stood still.
Renly immediately rose to his feet and greeted him respectfully. "Sir, are you alright?"
The old man chuckled softly. "Don't worry about me. I'm about to leave—a taxi's already waiting for me outside." His voice, though aged, carried quiet strength. "I just wanted to say thank you. You know, even now, I still dream about those years. But most of the time, they're nightmares. Tonight, though... tonight, I think I'll have a good dream."
Renly opened his mouth to reply, but the old man didn't give him a chance. He simply nodded politely and turned away, walking slowly toward the exit.
Renly watched him go, his mind swirling with unspoken thoughts. He didn't know the man's story, why he was here, or what memories haunted him—but in that single "thank you," there was a lifetime of meaning.
Some say that art is meaningless, that it has no real value. When survival is at stake, what place does art have?
But the old man was the answer.
Food, money, shelter—they are necessary, but they are not everything. Integrity, dreams, identity—these are what make life more than just survival. They are what give life meaning.
As Renly stood there, another young man stepped forward, his voice trembling. "Master, thank you. Tonight's performance... it was incredible. I can't believe I got to see you live. Every Don Quixote would be jealous of me right now."
Renly smiled, snapping back to the present. "Sorry, I got distracted watching the old gentleman leave," he admitted. "But I should be the one thanking you. Tonight's success was because of all of you."
More people followed, each one offering a simple, heartfelt "thank you." No screams, no demands—just gratitude. It was a rare and beautiful moment.
As the night wore on, people began drifting away, back to their lives, back to reality. But for a few hours, they had all been transported—through time, through emotions, through dreams.
And perhaps, just perhaps, they would carry a piece of it with them forever.