Holding your hand to the very last moment...

He was an artist, a sculptor of clay. She was the girl-next-door, his neighbor in that little flat somewhere out there. They had never talked to each other, at most passing by each other down that long, narrow corridor. Then one day, he returned home to find her sitting outside her flat; she had forgotten to bring her keys. Sitting down opposite her they chatted...

In time, they fell in love.

One day, she wanted to give him a little surprise and bought a cake, a little round fruit cake. Cake in hand she walked to his door and was about to knock when suddenly she felt giddy and collapsed on the wooden floor. He was inside reading a book at his desk when he heard her fall. Unaware of what had happened he opened the door, only to see his love lying on the floor unconscious, the cake splattered beside her. Gently, he embraced her and tried to revive her...

But she never woke up.

He sits silently in his chair, slowly eating the cake she had bought for him...

He closes his eyes and tries to remember the feel of his hand caressing her face...

Eyes brimming with tears he makes a life-sized model of her, dressing her in her favorite clothes.

Holding her hand till the very last moment.