Chapter 13 – Galanthus

February. On the day when the last snowflakes of winter clung together and Galanthus, who was nibbling on the snapdragons in the garden, was scolded by Aurelia, and the two of them, after playing together while rummaging through the honeysuckle vines covering the right wall of the house, were brought to tears by Mireille’s scolding.

“Mom, mom, Galanthus found Galanthus! I’m not joking! Galanthus bloomed, and the flower spoke, it really spoke!”

Aurelia, breathless, grabbed her hand and dragged her out to the garden to share the happy news. She opened her mouth at the terrible mess Galanthus had made, tearing up the snapdragons, but closed it again when she saw the melted snow where the children had been, and the face of life that had held its breath all winter, waiting only for spring.

Snow-white, the herald of spring was born. The flower that blooms when the snow melts is a sign of spring, a promise. Spring had already arrived. Her chest ached as she thought of him, who still did not wake, swept away by the flow of time faster than the river. How much longer must she wait?

She squatted down next to Aurelia, who now even spoke with flowers. It occurred to her that if one could talk to flowers, perhaps one could converse with all plants, and that Aurelia might become rather tired from it, so she asked:

“What did the flower say?”

“It’s not the flower, it’s the flower’s fairy I’m talking to.”

“I see. What’s its name? What does it look like? Can you ask if it thinks Mom is pretty?”

“Oh, Mom! The fairy said she fell in love with you at first sight. She hasn’t picked a name yet, so I suggested ‘Galette Bretonne’—isn’t that clever?”

Aurelia, now quite cheeky, used the name of the baked good she’d enjoyed recently as a suggestion for the fairy’s name, using the new word she’d learned. At times like this, she was every bit a child, and it made her mother’s withering heart feel a light drizzle.

“Yes. Very clever.”

“Hehe. I think the flower liked it. But Mom, what was the flower language of Galanthus? Can you eat this?”

“Hope and comfort. It’s a beautiful flower, but not practical at all. Still, just seeing it makes people happy and tells you spring has come, so for those stuck in winter, it’s the best gift.”

Somehow, it sounded as if the flower was screaming, so she laughed along with Aurelia and shared the word etched in her mind.

“I want to give it to Dad.”

Aurelia, nodding like a flower, asked for permission. When told that every flower in the garden was hers, she reached out excitedly, but carefully picked the flower so as not to hurt the petals, quickly making a bouquet. Then she gave it to her.

“If you give it, Mom, he’ll be even happier.”

“No way. Dad loves Aurelia so much.”

“I know, but I want you to give this flower, Mom. Revron told me that in the north, in March, people give Galanthus to someone they love and dance together.”

Her purpose was so clear that she did not break the stubborn will of the child, and hugged the bouquet to her chest.

“Alright. But you have to come with me.”

Instead of answering, Aurelia nodded and walked ahead, while she carefully wrapped the bouquet in a white handkerchief, chasing after Aurelia’s quick steps.

“Mom, hurry, hurry! Galette Bretonne is nagging that you’re too slow!”

Even the flower was scolding her for being slow. Aurelia hopped like she was dancing, waiting by the doorknob. Catching her breath and realizing the need for more exercise, she saw Aurelia looking at her, as if telling her to go in and spend time alone with him.

“Galette Bretonne will go in too, so aren’t you coming?”

“I already spent a lot of time with Dad earlier.”

Recently, Aurelia often sought out Idris, saying she had things to tell only him, leaving her feeling lonely. Since she’d already chatted a lot in the morning, she quietly shrugged.

“Alright. Watch Galanthus so it doesn’t eat Galanthus, okay?”

“Yes!”

She entered Idris’s room, where the sea could be seen and the wind flowed like waves. The window of the second-floor room was closed. She opened it a hand’s width for ventilation, then sat on a low stool beside the bed. 

She had spoken to him morning and evening, but today, with so much to say, the words wouldn’t come.

“Idris. Galanthus found Galanthus.”

Feeling awkward in the air, she broke the ice with a joke and placed the bouquet in his neatly folded hands, then set it atop the pile of fairy tale books Aurelia had stacked.

“It bloomed white like a violet, so pretty. If only you could get up and see it… This is a bouquet Aurelia made herself, wanting to give it to you. You should give flowers to your daughter first, not receive them! Hurry and get up…”

Annoyed at his continued sleep, she jokingly grumbled, but then his unmoving fingers twitched. Like being stung by a bee, she nearly fainted on the spot. His finger grasped the bouquet, and as his eyelids fluttered like a butterfly smelling the flowers, wrinkles formed and then shortened into deep lines.

“…Idris.”

“Hillie.”

At his hoarse voice, tears burst forth. He was so normal, one could hardly call him someone just awakened from a coma. He awkwardly smiled as he pushed himself up from the bed, trying to speak, but her patience snapped.

She threw herself into his chest and hugged him. As always, he held her with one arm and simply apologized.

“That’s what you say after waking up for the first time in three months?”

“…I love you.”

After all that time, at last, the answer arrived and time stopped. All the resentment, anger, guilt, regret, shame, her shortcomings and apologies—everything. At those words, her tears poured out, and she clung to him, crying for a long time. When she heard the sound of a ship’s horn, she realized he had finally become whole again.

That night, they sat around the table and ate dinner together. They shared a long-awaited reunion, postponing the news for those waiting for tomorrow.

“What did you dream about?”

He confessed that he’d dreamed a very old dream.

* * *

He left the south of Eden, holding a dying woman in his arms. Having broken the golden rule, his fallen wings were rotting black at the tips, but in the end, he knelt before the throne of God, confessing his sins in hopes of sending the woman to heaven. God thundered:

“Do you wish to fall into hell!”

Hell was not elsewhere. It was the place where he lost his beloved. That was hell.

Immortal life was like an eternal punishment. Like being shackled and gagged in the abyss, spending endless time prostrate. Was it yesterday? Or hundreds of years ago? Emotions and memories mixed, and primordial chaos exploded in his mind.

He had nothing in this world, not even his own body and life, yet he loved. It was everything. Love was everything to him. He desperately wanted love to be his alone.

He longed for punishment.

“Take back your grace, eternity, and power. Just let me have her.”

He wanted to grow old and die with her. To share and savor love, to fail, to cry and laugh together, to spend every life and moment with her—this was his only wish.

But God, pitying him, granted him a chance. His wings were taken, and a new life was given. His first life was closed, his memories of love erased, leaving only original sin to remember.

“You were my first beloved creation.”

His great wings were torn in half. Lips bitten to endure pain turned blue. The white of his eyes, untainted, became stained with shame.

“That’s why I wish for you to truly recognize and repent for your sins. You will wear the form of man, understand their lives and the pain of original sin. And when you finally learn love, you will at last be free.”

But in his new body, none of this was visible.

From the beginning, children are born with original sin because of the crime of the first man. Born borrowing a woman’s womb, he retained a clear mind and memory, but his sight, hearing, and everything else were incomplete, trapped in the body of a flawed child.

Even though his heart beat fiercely, he felt nothing. He could not sense anything. The pain of burning and plucked wings, all that tormented him, disappeared.

He was certainly alive, yet he fell into a state neither dead nor alive—a coma.

He did not possess the ‘will’ that living beings have. In other words, desire.

He lived in a strange calm, without joy, pleasure, or pain, and as he turned four, when he reached the age he could run, the differences between him and other ordinary children became stark.

His father found the boy, who continued only a formal life like a doll, to be dreadful. Since the child who carried his blood did not resemble him, he doubted his wife’s fidelity and acted out in cruelty. When the child reached the age to speak and run, he did not hesitate to *buse him.

However, the angel met his beloved once again.

The first word the angel learned from reading human books about first love was a name.

The angel waited through another stretch of endless time and finally reunited with love once more. This time, he recognized her.

Seeing the child open her eyes, he felt a sensation for the first time in his life. His throat tightened, stinging as it did when he drank lemon water, so he swallowed for no reason and met the child’s gaze. The child was looking at him. He opened his mouth and called the child’s name.

‘Hillienti.’

The baby smiled as if she understood her name. It was a smile as if a fairy would be born from it. With permission, he was able to touch her tiny hand. The finger the child held onto carried the scent of lilac.

The small warmth clung tightly to his index finger. He never wanted to let go.

‘I love you.’

He gripped the warmth in his hand tightly.

“Idris, Idris! Are you awake?”

It was at the moment he held that hand. A tremendous vibration that shook the heavens and earth, and a blinding light that could not be opened to, arrived.

—Since your sin is over, now you shall become a complete human and experience complete love.

Idris opened his eyes. And he met the eyes that he would trade even his soul for. They were the most beautiful flowers he knew, yet their meaning was the saddest of all.

“You, you’re not supposed to get up. You’ve just woken up after a month. Don’t do this, lie down.”

Soft violet scabiosa. Tears fell from the eyes of the woman who had given him that flower.

He got up and received the flower. His heart trembled with imperfect breaths. The sensation that his heart was beating filled him with joy, awe, and an indescribable emotion.

“I love you.”

At last, he spoke without hesitation, and the woman was left speechless. She touched her trembling lips with her fingertips. Then, like a baby bird rubbing its beak against its mother, she kissed him.

I love you. I love you. 

The woman cried like a child, and he held her in his arms. And they shared the stories they could not while he slept.

They recalled the past in quiet voices and laughed together. The woman, who chose forgiveness in the face of love, asked,

“Have you ever loved me and regretted it?”

The man kissed her and answered.

“I have always regretted it. But you are the most beautiful regret in my life. Even after living a thousand years, waiting a thousand years, and finally meeting you now.”

He earnestly pleaded. He begged to be able to live with her. God granted him death. The path of decline. As he walked the path of fading away, he was truly delighted.

In joy and in sorrow, the only thing he wished for was to grow old with her. Just as youth is not eternal, as humans, they would change little by little, but how great a blessing it was to be able to match their pace and live together.

Just as trees change with the seasons, their love would also change in form as they aged, but that would always be love.

<You Are the Regret I Love the Most> The End