Promise

"Hey dad, are you in here?"
"In the kitchen, Santi."
A boy of around twelve jogged into a modest kitchen and stood by the dining counter. His bright green eyes were eager and his moon-like face shone with perspiration. By the refrigerator stood a man in his late 30s, most likely the young boy's father. His chocolate brown eyes reflected his son's eagerness and smiled back at him.
"How was practice today?"
"Same as everyday, pop.", he replied, throwing the football in his hand over to his father's open arms.
"Ay, I'll never understand this love that you have for football. I was never very good at it when I was younger."
The boy laughed.
His answer was the same as everyday's.
"I don't know pop, it's a part of my soul now. Just it was mama's."
And then, just as everyday, his father would delve into his thoughts, leaving the young boy to his own devices. He handed the boy his supper, went into his room and promptly locked himself up until dinnertime. This had become routine, and it no longer bothered the boy that this was the only conversation that they had in a long time. Ever since...

It was a bright and sunny day. An unusually cheerful weather for such a sad occasion. The young boy, who had just turned ten last week, stood next to a deep mahogany casket that was being laid into the earth. Not many people had gathered that day. Not many knew her
An unlikely victim of leukemia, the boy's mother had passed on the previous day. Her time was done. She had lived a peaceful and secluded life with her husband and child, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. No one really knew why and how she fell ill, she just did. And just like that, she was gone, leaving behind and only son and a grieving father in her wake.
"Dad I think we should leave."
The pair had stood at the grave for a long time before the boy grew impatient. After what seemed like ages, they finally left. The young boy knew nothing of his mother's untimely demise and was terribly angered that she had to leave so suddenly. The father, on the other hand, refused to come to terms with her death and continued to live in a state of denial for days on end, until a few relatives began to notice that something was wrong. The boy had almost stopped going to school altogether, his father would be holed up in his room the whole day and only come down to dinner. Their relatives, the few that they had left, advised him to go visit a doctor or get help, anything to help their broken family get back up on their feet.
Eventually he got better.
And so did the boy.
But ever so often, the boy's father would completely zone out. Retreat into an unreal existence. And this seemed to be another such night.

His father was unaware of one thing though. His mother did love football, just as much as he did. She was, in fact, the one who'd instilled the love of the game in him. She was the one who'd taught him everything he knew about the game. He was exactly like his mother, the same green eyes, the same moon-like face. He loved her. He missed her.

He climbed up the well worn stairs, up to his room, went in and locked the door. He dumped his backpack onto the nearest beanbag and threw himself onto the bed. He just lay there for a while, looking up at his ceiling. He now remembered how his mother had helped him string up the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling so many years ago. She had said to him, "Baby, if anything ever happens to me, just remember to look up into the night sky. I'll be looking down at you. And you'll know. You will always be safe. I promise, baby. Always."
The boy hung on to those words till date. And whenever he looked out into the vast, black sky, he'd always see a particular star towards the southeast, twinkling in the dark, as though it were winking at him.
He took a quick shower and went to bed.

The next day, the boy got up quite early. Earlier than usual. It was the weekend and winter break was due to begin next week. So, he had a casual breakfast and lazed around till his father finally came out of his room.
They were supposed to go to the market that day but his father looked very ill.
"I'm sorry Santi, I don't think I can come today. I've been feeling a bit under the weather lately. Why don't you take Alex with you? His father was telling me that he need to go to the market as well. I'll write you a list of things to buy for the house. If there's any money left, you may buy yourself a treat.", he said with a wink, and a smile that was rare in these parts.
The boy complied and left the house as soon as he was ready.