White bangalow:
Inside the master bedroom.
"Madam Nazi… I sense there's something fishy going on," the housekeeper said, narrowing her eyes with suspicion.
"What do you mean by that?" Madam Nazi said as she pulled the blanket off herself, her eyes sharp with curiosity.
"I mean… the boy Sir Harris brought in as the new manager—he looks way too young. Must be around nineteen," the housekeeper said, hands clasped and eyes lowered. "I just don't understand… how much education could he have gotten at that age? And yet, he's landed a manager's job in such a big company?"
"I haven't even seen that manager. Only Haris came into the room—and that too, just to check on me," Lady Nazi said, defending Haris softly. "He came straight here from Morocco. Didn't even stop by his own home."
Hearing this, the housekeeper lifted her head slightly and looked up—but the surprise in her eyes was unmistakable.
It was the first time Haris's stepmother had ever defended him.
Otherwise, she would always team up with the housekeeper to make him the target of constant criticism. It was all because of the insecurities the housekeeper had quietly planted in her heart.
"And when I asked Haris why he didn't go home, he simply said, 'I *am* home,'" Madam Nazi said plainly, her voice laced with quiet pride.
Meaning, Haris meant that *home* is wherever his mother is.
Ugh! Haris really knows how to butter people up.
But what's gotten into Madam Nazi?
Why is her heart suddenly making so much room for him?
And Madam, instead of using her own mind, kept listening to her.
"Madam, all I'm saying is—if Sir Haris is going to be the next CEO of the company, and he keeps hiring such inexperienced people to manage things, then how will it work?" the housekeeper said boldly, her tone edged with concern. "Honestly, our Sir Haroon is much wiser. If he became CEO, he'd never make such poor decisions…"
And Madam, instead of using her own mind, kept listening to her.
Why wouldn't she? After all, it was she who had given the housekeeper the liberty to speak so much in the first place.
Beach:
In the parking area:
"Girls, quickly put the stuff in the car!" Grandpa said, watching through the rearview mirror from the driver's seat.
"Hannah, please don't bring this stuff to the beach again!" Safira said, adjusting the canvas in the car trunk with a hand on her back. "Last time Grandpa's back got strained—this time, it might be mine!"
"Safira! Your back hurts from carrying *one* canvas?" Hannah shot back, unable to tolerate a word against her painting. "The parking isn't even that far, and the canvas isn't *that* heavy!"
"Alright then, next time carry it yourself—and don't make excuses about your hands hurting from painting!" Safira fired back, matching Hannah's tone.
"Hey girls, don't start pulling each other's hair now—just get in the car already!" Grandpa shouted loudly while watching through the mirror, making sure both of them could hear him.
Grandpa's voice reached not only the two of them but also everyone around, and unconsciously, they all couldn't help but smile.
Seeing this, both Hannah and Safira pouted, then slammed the car trunk shut before hopping into the car.
"Didn't I tell you both not to bring it outside?" Grandpa said, glancing at their pouty faces and then consoling them.
Then the car started moving. It was 8 in the evening, and there was heavy traffic on the roads.
The car was playing old recordings of a hockey match.
Hannah and Safira were tired of Grandpa's habit, but by now, they had probably gotten used to it. Grandpa loved hockey a lot. When he was younger, he had been a huge fan of Nizam Jafar.
He used to watch his matches on repeat. He even tried many times to get into sports, but Grandma's father had set a condition: he wouldn't allow his daughter to marry any sportsman unless they had a stable job.
Grandpa always tells the same story. And now, he's telling it again.
"I sat down for just five minutes, thinking I'd tell her father, 'Look, I like hockey, let me play,'" Grandpa said, continuing his familiar tale.
"But back then, children couldn't openly express their interests to the elders," Grandpa continued, reminiscing.
"We remember, Grandpa. After that, you couldn't say a word, and you promised Grandma's father that next time you came, you'd have a good job," Safira said, cutting off Grandpa's story with a tired tone.
"Well, well! So you really do listen to my stories, after all. That's why you remember," Grandpa smiled, amused.
"Grandpa, life always gives you another chance. Didn't you ever get that chance?" Hannah said, looking at Grandpa.
"I did, but now, when I'm 70! I had to focus on work, the business, and family responsibilities, and only now am I free. So, I want to spend these vacations with you all. So that, after I'm gone, there'll be someone to remember me!" Grandpa said, winking at Safira.
Grandpa's words had made the atmosphere in the car tense. Just then, Safira spoke up.
"Why, Grandpa? Are you going somewhere?" Safira asked, her voice filled with concern.
At this, both Hannah and Safira couldn't help but burst into laughter, as if they'd forgotten all of Grandpa's emotional dialogues in just a minute.