Beautiful Dreamer

Chapter Three

A/n— I would like to dedicate this chapter to the person who is always encouraging me, and everyone tbh, by voting and commenting nice things all the time, and really motivating us.. Thank you for your continued support, nightshade128

(I don't mean to say that everyone else doesn't do all of this too, but this one human just stands out a little, so pls don't be mad at me or anything... 😅🙃)

Ok, now you can enjoy the story.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

It had been two weeks since my Grandma had died. I had still not gotten over my grief, though I didn't show it. I walked along the radish patch in her garden. I stroked some of its leaves, like she used to every morning. I believe that actually made her plants grow faster and healthier. She cared so deeply about everything around her, and did everything she could to protect it. She really was a noble soul. I had to strive to be just like her.

Of course, I thought day and night of the Key she had given me. It made me restless and even more miserable having no idea about what she had meant. I tried to wrack my brain cells for a logical explanation of what could possibly make that necklace so special, but I got nothing.

I began my way back towards our house. The sunset was only an hour away, the sky cast with a spectral glow of a deeper golden, mixed with a brilliant vermillion. The lightly-breezy air was getting warmer. The end of April meant that summer was close, and my birthday was drawing closer. I was kind of excited, but I doubted I would be able to celebrate it when my Grandma wasn't with us anymore. That made me less excited; my Grandma was one of the reasons I enjoyed my birthday. She always made me my favourite— her world-famous honey cake. She would always make our favourite cakes on our respective birthdays.

Well, as I reached inside my house, took off my shoes, and headed towards my room, the smell of garlic and basil wafted towards me. I smiled. Thinking about having pesto pasta for dinner improved my mood by a significant amount.

My Mom was standing by the stove, stirring the pasta with the pesto sizzling, the aroma being stronger now that I was at the source. She saw me from the corner of her eye, and smiled. Brushing a strand of her dark black hair behind her ear, she turned to look at me with her deep brown eyes. Her tanned face was bright with joy.

I walked over to her and she embraced me like she did without fail, at least once everyday. Yes, I know it's kind of kiddish, but I like it. The same strand of her hair fell on my face as I held on to her, absorbing her warmth. That strand always managed to escape every single time she tried to tie back her hair. Stubborn to be recognised, just like her. Being wrapped in her strong, muscular arms that had developed after years of being a gym trainer, I felt very safe and protected.

"How are you dear?" She asked.

"I am fine, Mom," I replied. "You made my day by making pesto."

"Well, it is your favourite. I did want to save it for your birthday on Friday, but I have other plans to surprise you with. Some things you haven't had in a long time.." she said with a mischievous smile. She was a wonderful cook. To be honest, I would instantly fall in love with anything that she made.

The thought of a surprise menu for my birthday made me kind of excited. Actually pretty excited. I love food, as you can see. I let go of her, grinning, and headed upstairs towards my room.

My bedroom was the most comfortable place on earth. It had deep blue walls and a ceiling, a wooden floor, and a black wooden four-poster with white drapes. The desk and chair I used to do my homework or any sort of work on was also black and wooden. My deep brown cabinet and dresser made the rest of it.

Now that I mention it, I was homeschooled. So my homework was actually no different than my schoolwork, if you really think about it. But having Mom as my teacher was actually really nice. I also liked the things like learning about the different types of plants from Grandma while she demonstrated them in real life, and therefore she used to double as my biology teacher.

My room had a balcony with sliding glass doors, which overlooked Grandma's garden and the suburban street past our fence. I could see the low hills and the horizon, where the sun was sinking leisurely, in the far distance. I loved the view from my windows, and my windows in general. It always seemed to make me happier to gaze outside at the sky or the garden, watching Grandma tend to her daisies and tulips. Because of the many flowers and fruits in the garden, many different birds and butterflies often payed me visits. It was a pleasure to wake up to birdsongs or a parakeet tapping on the glass.

I gazed down at the now Grandma-less, lonely, and sad garden. Looking at it made me sad as well. I decided not to dwell on it too much, and tried to distract myself. I sat down and took out the book I was currently reading. I read for about half an hour, until my Mom called me down for dinner. I closed the book and headed downstairs to the pasta that was waiting for me..

(I have no clue how homeschool works, so please be merciful.)