As Winterblossom Park pulsed with a bouncing crowd—small hands tugging their parents in every direction, partners steering each other with playful pulls, and spouses leading one another with shared affection—Amongst this gay cacophony, Nia stood alone, clenching a crying little boy on her hip, surveying her surroundings with a scanning look.
Nia, with eyes as beautiful as the Himalayan blue poppy, as delicate as dewdrops caught in the morning mist, and sparkling like the brightest Rigel star. As soft as cotton, her blond curls were. With a gentle breeze and sunshine, they would flow like a silk river and glow like a halo of spun gold. Even the slightest caress would make her soft, pinkish skin blush. With her moonlike smile, the sun itself forgot to shine. She was a sensitive angel, bearing a tender heart that cared deeply for the most bewitching melody of the world—the children's laughter.
As a photobook author and Bill's promised bride, Nia had traveled miles with him to Winterblossom, eager to taste the magic of Twinkle Velli. Now, without Bill's comforting arm holding her butterfly hand, the crowd had swallowed her and the little boy, and for a moment, they were deserted in the sea of fiesta.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Suddenly, the little boy, having spotted his mother across the crowd, was bouncing with pure joy, blissfully exclaiming, "Mommy! Mommy!"
Nia's heart swelled with happiness as she resolved to gift him back to the embrace of his mother. Delicately, she loosened her hold on the little boy, allowing him to find his footing on the earth. The lone boy stood, his eyes glinting with innocence. "Thank you," he muttered bashfully. She knelt down and her fingers gently stroked his velvety cheek. With a tender smile, she said, "You're welcome, Sweetie."
The little boy, grateful and content, flitted back to his mother like a compass needle drawn irresistibly northward, cutting through the crowded sea with a straight and unwavering gravity.
The little boy's mother expressed her gratitude to Nia with unfeigned sincerity, her words bearing the weight of relief and joy.
As Nia smiled and waved back at the Mother-son pair, drenched in the maternal love that had enveloped them, an effervescent shout of joy erupted from the crowd behind her like a champagne cork popping, "Nia! Nia!"
Recognizing that reverberant voice, she turned with a cognizant gaze and gently uttered...