Chapter 618:

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The sun had been bright. She couldn’t see his face clearly, only the blinding glare and that spotless white shirt—cleaner than anything she’d seen before.

She was so scared. She begged him to let go or he would fall too. But he wouldn’t. His grip only got tighter. His arm got cut on the branches as he held on, the blood staining his sleeve.

The heat must have been too much for her. Everything went black. When she came to, she was already home and her caregiver was holding her.

Panicked, she asked what had happened to the boy.

He told her that when he spotted them, the boy was still holding the unconscious her. The boy had nearly fallen off the edge, but he managed to hold onto the tree trunk with the other hand to keep from falling down as well.

𝘠ou𝘳 dа𝗂𝗹𝗒 𝖽𝗼s𝖾 o𝘧 𝗇𝘰𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗌 𝗼𝘯 𝗴𝗮𝘭nо𝘃𝘦𝘭ѕ.c𝗈𝗆

He was exhausted. If help had come just a little later, neither of them would have made it.

Before he left, the boy had handed over a photo he took. It was a picture of the night scene of Ariosa, the source of Midnight Revelry at Ariosa.

Little Nicole clutched the photo and rushed outside. The boy in white was gone. Not a trace of him remained. A small weight pressed down on her chest.

Turning the photo over, she spotted rough, awkward handwriting scratched on the back. Flipping it upright, she read the word: “Dole.”

The next time she saw the boy again was right before she turned seven. He stepped into the courtyard that morning, saying he was looking for a girl under seven years old.

Out of everyone there, only she matched what he was searching for. She tore out of her room. The first thing she saw was the white of his shirt and the shape of his hands—long, clean, distinct. Without pausing, she shouted, “Dole!”

He froze, looking puzzled, almost like he didn’t understand why she called him that.

She didn’t care. She had spent years believing she’d never meet him again. The one who caught her hand. The one who refused to let her fall. To thank him for saving her life, she invited him to stay for lunch.

That was when she learned his name. It was Marc Wilson.

Back then, she really thought he might be named “Dole.”

Later on, she found out he was an art student. His paintings were nothing short of breathtaking.

One day, she showed him the same photograph the boy had left behind. Marc explained it was an image of Ariosa at night—a place far from where they stayed now.

He must have understood what she longed for, because soon after, he began teaching her to paint.

They recreated the photo slowly, week by week. He guided her hand, corrected her strokes, and together, they finished their version of it.

They called it “Midnight Revelry at Ariosa.”

At one point, he asked her to choose an artist name for herself. She sat with that thought for a while. Then she wrote it down—Dooley Santos.

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