“It’s snowing, Papa.” The little girl squealed, jumping at the sight of little crystals falling. “I cannot believe that I am seeing real snowflakes before my eyes.”

Her father smiled, patting her back as she tried to collect them in her hands. “Don’t worry. You’ll see plenty of snow at your grandmother’s house.”

“Sir, your shoes are done.” The shoemaker emerged from his workshop, presenting a pair of freshly made boots. “How would you like to pay the remaining money?”

“By check.” The father pulled out the check from his coat pocket, handing it to the shoemaker. “Dear, your new boots are ready.”

The girl gasped, sprinting to the shoemaker as she tried to look at them, but failed miserably.

“Here, let me help you up.” The father helped her up on the table.

“Papa, they are really beautiful.” The girl smiled in glee, taking her new boots in her hands. “They are made by him?” The girl asked curiously, pointing to the shoemaker.

“Yes, he made them.”

The girl looked at the shoemaker. “Thank you, Sir. These are truly wonderful.” The girl moved her hands, expressing her feelings.

“Do you really think I made wonderful shoes?”

“With full assurance, I believe so.”

The shoemaker gave her a timid smile. “Then accept a gift from me.” He pulled out a hyacinth flower, immediate amazement coming over the girl.

“A flower . . .” The girl looked back, asking for permission from her father. He gave her a curt nod. The girl accepted the flower.

A horn was heard from the car. The father turned back, walking towards it.

“What does the flower symbolise? I heard every flower has one.” The girl looked up to find the smile disappeared.

“Forgiveness.”

“To whom?”

“To the dead.”