THE LAST

Echo were as silent, as if waiting for her. Jyoti seized the doorway and her fingers followed an old wooden frame. Her mother, Veronica, once lived here – worked here, screamed here, dreamed here. Now, Jyoti was entering her past and looking for some of the women she would never ask her again.

Her father placed his hand on his shoulder. "Are you ready?"

She wasn't. But she nodded anyway.

The door squealed as he opened it. Inside, the air smelled like old wood and small flowers. It was as if the smell of childhood still still existed. The living room was small and cozy, with worn sofas and framed photos coming out of the walls. Everything was untouched and received like a time capsule.

A woman older than her appeared from the hallway, and her face was recognized and illuminated. Chukwudi!" She grabbed the air and hugged Jyoti's father.

"Aunt Ifeoma," he greets, his voice warm.

Jyoti took a step back and looked closely at the woman. Her dark skin was lined with age, but her eyes were sharp and full of memories.

"This is Jyoti," her father introduced. Ifeoma turned to her, her eyes soft. "Oh, you look like your mother."

The words sent sharp bread through the Jyoti chest. I've always told her, but now that Veronica has lost it, it felt even more difficult.

"She wanted me to come here," tweeted Jyoti and grabbed a letter in her pocket. "She left me the list... and that was the first place."

Ifeoma studied for a long time before nodding. "Now, kid. There's something you have to look at. "

Ifeoma led her to a small room at the edge of the hall. Old bookshelves lined up on the walls, wooden desks sitting near the window, and sunlight flowed through it. The room felt untouched and frozen in time.

"This was your room," said Ifeoma

Jyoti entered carefully. A properly made bed, faded posters, dusty book views on the shelf – everything felt surreal. She stood in the childhood of a woman who only knew her as a mother.

She drove her fingers on the spines of a book. "She always loved it," she whispered.

"She was not in her hands without a book," Ifoa agreed. "And she always dreamed of seeing the world."

Jyoti turned around and was captivated. "Did you want to travel?"

"Yes," Iffie smiled lovingly. "She always said she would visit Paris, Rome and Cairo in the summer," she laughed. "Of course, there were other plans in life."

Jyoti swallowed hard. Her mother had dreams that she had never met. Did she write this list? Was this trip to complete the dream she once gave up?

She returned to her desk and raised her fingers onto the old wooden box. She opened it carefully, revealing the letters, photos and diary.

When she recorded it, her heart beating, the cover was exhausted.

"Was that you?" she asked. Ifeome nodded. "She wrote it every day."

Jyoti hesitated before turning the side. The manuscript was unmistakable – her mother's words freeze in time.

Read the first entry loudly.

" 5. August 1995.

"I don't know if I'll leave this city, but I dream about it every night. I really want to see, I really want to do it. I want to fall in love with a foreign city and write a story read by people I never see. "

Jyotis' hands tremble. This was her mother's side that she had never known – a dreamer, a girl with great hope.

Tears burned behind her eyes. "She never told me about it."

ifeoma placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Maybe she wanted you to discover it herself."

Jyoti became unstable and turned the site. The list was in the bold manuscript. "Location you want to visit:

"

Paris, France

Rome, Italy

The last one wasn't the place – it was a feeling. "obudu..." she muttered her name and recognized it. The mountains were in Nigeria and were breathtaking places my mother once mentioned.

Her father, who was silent, finally said, "She loved this place. We went there before they were born. "

Jyoti makes her pines clumsy. "Then I have to go there."

Your father hesitated. "Are you serious?"

She looked down at her mother's diary. It wasn't just about checking out the location. This was about understanding Veronica's women before becoming a mother.

"I have to do it," Jyoti said. Ifeoma smiled. "Now, a child. I'll hand over her dreams as she wanted. "

Jyoti closed her diary and held it firmly in her chest.

list not only.

She followed her mother's heart. Late night

Jyoti sat alone in the room where his mother once belonged, passing through his diary. Each side was filled with ideas, dreams and stories written by Veronica. She never saw her mother as a writer, but here she once again lived in her words.

Specific entries attracted her attention.

″ 12. December 1998.

"I wonder if love feels like a movie. When it comes suddenly, or when it grows over time, it is quiet or noisy. Sometimes I think I already met someone I love forever. Maybe he doesn't know yet. Probably not. "

jyotis lipten for the the the the fate? No, it was the idea of a romantic young girl. Nevertheless, she wonders...

Outside, the stars glow brightly above Enugu, and for the first time since Veronica's death, Jyoti wasn't so lost.

She had a way of following.

And tomorrow she took the next step.