The Price of LOVE
Evening. 4 PM.
The sky is cool. A soft wind moves through the garden — the kind that doesn’t comfort, only reminds.
In the distance, burial places. Quiet. Still. Waiting.
This is where she walks.
A girl in a white dress. Slow steps. Shoulders heavy with something unspoken.
She raises her hand to her eyes.
Tears fall — silently, without permission.
Her sadness needs no explanation yet.
It will reveal itself.
Slowly.
She keeps walking.
Then — something shifts.
A memory arrives without warning.
And she smiles.
Not happy.
Not sad.
Bittersweet — the kind of smile that comes only when you remember someone who is no longer here.
Her face glows and breaks at the same time.
Why?
That too will reveal itself.
Slowly.
The memory opens.
---
Flashback — Evening. 6 PM. Sunset.
The sky is reddish. Warm.
The world outside is beautiful — she cannot feel it.
She walks in the balcony, back and forth, her mind pulling in two directions at once.
Inside the house — her mother’s voice.
Mother: “What happened? Any problem?”
She: “Yes. But this won’t be solved by you. Do your work. I will think about it.”
She keeps pacing.
The weight of what she wants — and what she will lose because of it — pressing on every step.
Mother: “Maybe what you want is not possible by me. But what you need — finding that — that I can help with.”
She: “Stop your philosophies, Mom. Philosophies don’t solve problems. Not until I find a solution.”
Mother: “Solutions don’t come from walking like that. Sit. Think.”
She: “If I sit and think, our problem still won’t solve. Because what I’m thinking about… is the thing that rules this world. Without it, I have no solution.”
A pause.
The wind moves.
Mother: “You need money.”
Silence.
Mother: “But remember — money was created by a man like us. So it is not bigger than us.”
She: “Money was created by us. But more than us — money has value now.”
She stops walking. Looks at the sky.
She: “If we don’t have money — we are like a lion in a cage.
But if we have it — we are the king of the forest.”
Mother: “Why do you need money now?”
The memory closes.
Like a door.
Gently. Finally.
---
Back to the Present
The garden. The wind. The burial places in the distance.
She walks a few more steps.
And stops.
In front of her mother’s grave.
She sits.
Slowly.
Like her body already knows this place — like she has sat here many times before, searching for answers the grave cannot give.
She wipes her tears.
Stands up.
Looks down at the ground where her mother rests.
Then — she takes out money.
Places it in front of the grave.
And burns it.
The flame rises.
Her face in the firelight — anguish.
Not just sadness.
Not just anger.
Both. Together. At once.
The pain of losing someone.
Mixed with the rage of a world that kept moving without them.
She watches the money burn.
And does not look away.
She turns.
Walks back.
The camera of life finds her from behind again — where it started.
White dress. Slow steps.
The flame still burning behind her.
Her mother’s grave glowing in its light.
And as she walks — her voice:
“Mother cannot be replaced by money.”
A beat.
“But money replaces everything.”
The words appear on her mother’s grave.
Letter by letter.
As the flame dies.
As she walks away.
As the screen goes dark.
The End.
