“It’s starting to snow more...”

The man said, his hand raised as a few tiny snowflakes landed on it. A gentle chill, the chill of winter.

The sky had begun to show off with more substantial snowfalls lately. The snow cover on the road was slightly higher.

It was mid-December.

The holidays were approaching.

With a sigh, the man brushed the snow from his hands as it fell into the sea of ​​snow on the ground. Clutching the shovel tighter, the snow-covered graves still awaited him.

“This is going to take a long time...”

The man grumbled, continuing his work as he shoveled one... two... then three handfuls of thick snow from a tombstone, the fabric of his cloak bunching with each movement of his muscles.

But then, he stopped again.

His gaze slowly drifted into the distance.

Towards the West of the graveyard.

That red horizontal line was still clearly visible against the swirling white snow, that large rose hedge. It stood out against the white snow and the countless scattered graves.

Two months had passed since the old woman's story, the man's curiosity had faded, but something remained.

"How ostentatious..."

The man said, with a hint of mockery.

'Oh'

"Is someone being lazy?"

The man froze... Then, with a start, he quickly turned around, facing the voice that had just spoken.

A short figure, a white dress and a long black hair.

Present before the man was a little girl.

The little girl sat on a grave, the one he had cleaned just minutes before. Her legs dangled slowly, a smile on her lips.

“No...”

The words escaped the man’s lips involuntarily. His eyes widened.

“No—”

“No, what?"

"Do I make you remember something?”

The little girl’s voice rang out, it was calm but innocent.

The man was silent, no more words escaping his parted lips, but then he slowly regained a thoughtful expression.

"Knock knock, is anyone home? Can you hear me?"

"Who are you?"

"Huh?"

"I said, 'Who are you? Children aren't allowed in here.'"

The man spoke, slowly tightening his grip on the shovel before fully facing the little girl.

His gaze rose to the little girl, while her eyes looked down at him from the grave.

A giggle escaped the little girl.

“Adults always tell us to greet people, but it seems adults don’t really like greetings.”

With a thud of snow, the little girl jumped down as her boots landed on the snow.

“My name is Rose, and I’m from the West of the graveyard,” she said innocently.

Slowly, Rose's hand reached out for a handshake.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr.gravekeeper."

"..."

"...What else... Mr. Gravekeeper?"

Rose said, slowly withdrawing her small, outstretched hand before placing it on her hip, a pout appear on little girl's face.

"No," the man finally replied. "I was just wondering why your name is Rose."

"Then try to guess."

A flash of suprise.

“You were... named... after roses in the West?”

“Or is it just a coincidence?”

“Because it sounds rather strange.”

For a moment, the man’s words made Rose’s sparkling eyes widen slightly before she let out another giggle.

“Okay, okay, I admit it.”

“But it was given to me by my parents.”

“Your parents?”

“Yes, they’re in charge of the West side of the graveyard.”

As the little girl spoke, she pointed her finger towards the rose hedge.

“They’re florists and have been working here for a long time.”

Rose’s gaze returned to the man. It was still innocent, but there was something different hidden within.

“And that rose hedge is the result of my family’s work!”

"I see..."

"So you lived here with them?"

The man spoke, then fell silent, his gaze shifting to the rose hedge before returning to the girl.

“Is that all? What’s so special about them...?”

The man muttered, a puzzled expression on his face. But it seemed his words were a little too loud, as a slight smile played on Rose’s lips.

“Did ‘grandma’ tell you that.”

“Grandma? The old woman is your grandmother?”

“Not really, that’s just the nickname I gave the old gravekeeper.”

“But she did say something a bit harsh, didn’t she? ‘Only the right people can go to the West.’”

As Rose spoke, she adopted a haunting, deep voice, like a ghost story, before bursting into a hearty laugh, the man simply let out a sigh.

"That old woman, always spouting strange things."

"She's like that sometimes, but maybe it's because of the rules."

"That rule?"

"Yes! that odd rule."

"Others aren't allowed to go west, but perhaps it's partly because my family is rather secretive."

"Then why are you here?" the man asked curiously, his hand resting loosely on the shovel.

Rose was silent for a moment before looking back at the man.

“I don’t just stay west all the time; I often wander around the graveyard."

"There’s no rule against people on the West side going in other places.”

“And beside, I wanted to say hello to you, Mr. Gravekeeper. I’ve been watching you for a while now.”

“I see”

"So, you've been following me..."

Another giggle came from the little girl as she took a few steps closer to the man.

“I’ve only been watching you work from afar, and Grandma has told me a lot about you.”

The man froze, his face contorting with annoyance before settling into a look of relief.

“That old hag again... Talking about other people like she’s telling stories, treating it like a fairy tale.”

The man said, rubbing the back of his head as Rose’s cheerful laughter rang out as she listened to his words.

“But next time, don’t just stand there staring at me from afar.”

"You can talking to me If you want."

The man’s lips curved slightly, a fleeting sense of relief washing over him as the little girl nodded repeatedly.

“It was fun talking to you.”

...

Rose giggled again before it slowly turned into a smile.

“But... I think I have to go now.”

"?"

Rose said, slowly looking up at the man.

From her small hands, she took out a rose with a bud fully bloomed, a vibrant red. Its faint fragrance wafted into the man's nose, a pleasant sensation.

"We will meet again."

The man's calloused hands reached out, then touched the stem of the flower, avoiding a few small thorns before taking it from her small hands.

A small gift.

Rose stepped back a few paces in the snow as the flower settled in the man's hand, a smile still on her lips as she turned. She began walking away, westward.

But after a short distance, Rose stopped, turning her face once more towards the man, from afar.

“You must have overcome a lot to work here, haven’t you?”

She said, her voice still innocent but now slightly deeper.

“Overcome guilt.”

“And your own past.”

The man's eyes widened, but before he could utter a word, Rose began to run off rhythmically, like a melody, so much so that he could hear the echo of her giggles.

The rose in the man's hand trembled, 'moving'.

Two petals separated from the blossoming bud as they fell like feathers.

They lay on the white snow.

But the man only watched the girl's receding figure.

Not realizing what he had just missed.

--◇--