"It’s not quite what you expected, is it?" she asked. Her voice wasn’t a sound but a thought that blossomed in his mind.
"You are at the threshold," she replied, gesturing toward a vast, golden river that seemed to flow upward into a sky filled with colors he had no names for. "Life there is just the first draft. Here, we are the architects. Every dream you ever had, every kind word you spoke—they are the stones we use to build this place". Life After Life
He wasn’t alone. Figures moved in the distance, half-remembered faces that felt like home. A woman approached—his grandmother, who had passed when he was seven. She didn't look old or frail; she looked like a memory of summer. "It’s not quite what you expected, is it
Please give me some proof/story to suggest afterlife may be real "Life there is just the first draft