The dust-covered shelves are still filled with my mother's handcrafted potions and natural remedies. A somber memorial of floral bouquets from neighboring store owners adorns the entrance - a testament to my mother's revered status in this tight-knit community.
After locking the car, I set about removing the wilted flowers placed at the store door from other shop owners. Then, I unlock the door and step into the stale air of the abandoned shop.
The little bell that once chimed merrily with each customer's entrance now rings a lonely, mournful note. Memories flood my mind of when I used to come here after school.
Turning on the lights, I'm enveloped in the familiar scent of lavender and other herbs. I leave the door open, allowing the outside breeze to dilute the shop's stifling atmosphe
