When Pasha was not even five years old, his world collapsed. His mother was gone. He stood in the corner of the room, stunned by confusion — what was happening? Why was the house filled with strangers? Who were they? Why was everyone so quiet, so strange, speaking in whispers and avoiding eye contact?

The boy didn’t understand why no one was smiling. Why they told him, “Stay strong, little one,” and hugged him, but did it as if he had lost something important. But he had simply not seen his mother.

His father was somewhere far away all day. He didn’t come near, didn’t hug, didn’t say a word. He just sat apart, empty and distant. Pasha approached the coffin and stared at his mother for a long time. She was nothing like she usually was — no warmth, no smile, no lullabies at night. Pale, cold, frozen. It was frightening. And the boy no longer dared to get closer.

Without his mother, everything changed. Gray. Empty. Two years later, his father remarried. The new woman — Galina — did not become part of his world. Rather, she felt irritation toward him. She grumbled about everything, found faults as if looking for an excuse to be angry. And his father was silent. Did not defend. Did not intervene.

Every day Pasha felt a pain he hid inside. The pain of loss. Longing. And with every day — he wished more and more to return to the life when his mother was alive.

Today was a special day — his mother’s birthday. In the morning, Pasha woke up with one thought: he needed to go to her. To the grave. To bring flowers. White calla lilies — her favorite. He remembered how they were in her hands in old photographs, shining next to her smile.

But where to get money? He decided to ask his father.

“Dad, can I have a little money? I really need it…”

Before he could explain, Galina rushed out of the kitchen:

“What is this now?! You’re already asking your father for money?! Do you even realize how hard it is to earn a salary?”

His father looked up and tried to stop her:

“Gal, wait. He hasn’t even said why yet. Son, tell me what you need?”

“I want to buy flowers for Mom. White calla lilies. Today is her birthday…”

Galina snorted, crossing her arms:

“Oh, really! Flowers! Money for them! Maybe you want to go to a restaurant too? Take something from the flowerbed — that’ll be your bouquet!”

“They’re not there,” Pasha answered quietly but firmly. “They only sell them in the store.”

His father looked thoughtfully at his son, then shifted his gaze to his wife:

“Gal, go get lunch ready. I’m hungry.”

The woman snorted unhappily and disappeared into the kitchen. The father returned to his newspaper. And Pasha understood: he wouldn’t get any money. Not a single word was said after that.

He quietly went to his room, took out an old piggy bank. Counted the coins. Not many. But maybe enough?

Without wasting time, he ran out of the house toward the flower shop. From afar, he saw the snowy white calla lilies in the window. So bright, almost magical. He stopped, holding his breath.

Then he decisively went inside.

“What do you want?” asked the woman seller unfriendly, eyeing the boy critically. “You probably came to the wrong place. We don’t have toys or sweets here. Only flowers.”

“I’m not just like that… I really want to buy. Callas… How much is a bouquet?”

The seller named the price. Pasha took out all his coins from his pocket. The amount was barely half the price.

“Please…” he pleaded. “I can work! Come every day, help clean, dust, wash floors… Just lend me this bouquet…”

“Are you normal?” the woman snorted with clear irritation. “Do you think I’m a millionaire to just give away flowers? Get lost! Or I’ll call the police — begging is not welcome here!”

But Pasha was not going to give up. He needed those flowers today. He started begging again:

“I’ll pay everything back! I promise! I’ll earn whatever is needed! Please understand…”

“Oh, look at this little actor!” shouted the seller so loudly passersby began to turn around. “Where are your parents? Maybe it’s time to call social services? Why are you wandering here alone? Last warning — get out before I call!”

At that moment, a man approached the shop. He happened to witness the scene.

He entered the flower shop just as the woman was yelling at the upset child. It struck him — he couldn’t stand injustice, especially towards children.

“Why are you yelling like that?” he asked the seller sternly. “You’re shouting at him like he stole something. And he’s just a boy.”

“And who are you anyway?” snapped the woman. “If you don’t know what’s going on, don’t interfere. He almost stole the bouquet!”

“Well, sure, ‘almost stole,’” the man raised his voice. “You attacked him like a hunter after prey! He needs help, and you threaten him. Have you no conscience?”

He turned to Pasha, who stood in the corner, shrinking and wiping tears from his cheeks.

“Hello, buddy. My name’s Yura. Tell me why you’re upset? You wanted to buy flowers but didn’t have enough money?”

Pasha sobbed, wiped his nose with his sleeve, and said in a quiet, trembling voice:

“I wanted to buy calla lilies… For Mom… She loved them very much… But she left three years ago… Today is her birthday… I wanted to go to the cemetery and bring her flowers…”

Yura felt his heart tighten inside. The boy’s story touched him deeply. He crouched down next to him.

“You know, your mom can be proud of you. Not every adult brings flowers on the anniversary, and you, at eight years old, remember and want to do something good. You’re going to grow into a real person.”

Then he turned to the seller:

“Show me which calla lilies he chose. I want to buy two bouquets — one for him, one for me.”

Pasha pointed to the window display with the white callas shining like porcelain. Yura hesitated a little — those were exactly the flowers he had planned to buy. He said nothing aloud, just noted to himself: “Coincidence or a sign?”

Soon Pasha was already leaving the shop with the cherished bouquet in his hands. He treasured it like the most precious treasure and could hardly believe it had worked out. Turning to the man, he timidly offered:

“Uncle Yura… Can I leave you my phone number? I will definitely pay you back. I promise.”

The man laughed good-naturedly:

“I never doubted you would say that. But no need. Today is a special day for a woman who is dear to me. I’ve long awaited a moment to tell her my feelings. So, I’m in a good mood. Glad I could do a good deed. Besides, apparently, our tastes match — both your mom and my Ira loved these flowers.”

For a moment he fell silent, lost in thought. His eyes looked through space, recalling his beloved…

[story continues as you wrote — Yura’s memories, discovering Ira’s fate, the realization about Pasha, the reunion, and finally Yura’s tearful vow never to leave his son again.