The sky was ugly, a dull canvas smeared with cold rain. I wiped the wetness from my cheek — fresh droplets had just stained it again. I followed the winding path to my grandmother's great, timeworn house. The black door, etched with strange yet brand-new symbols, greeted me with silence. I knocked several times, the sound swallowed by the relentless tapping of rain on earth. I tightened my grip on my backpack, eyes searching for the door to open, longing for the warmth of a steaming cup of tea.
After a moment of tense waiting in the threshold, I saw her—my grandmother, a woman whose smile was radiant despite her age-wrinkled hands reaching out for me.
"What are you doing here, young lady? What a surprise!"
"Hello, Grandma."
She embraced me with all the fragile strength she had left, and I returned the hug just as fiercely. At her height, I rested my chin atop her silvery hair and sighed deeply as we stepped inside.
The hallway was narrow, bathed in the flickering light of candles lined on both sides. I slipped off my wet shoes, and she guided me to the couch, offering a towel to chase away the rain's cold dampness.
"You look dreadful. What happened to you?"
"I don't want to talk about it." I dried my hair and face with the towel she handed me, passing her my soaked jacket to hang up.
"I'm sure you're exhausted after driving all that way…" Grandma's gaze lingered behind me, lost in the window's darkening view. "It's getting late. Go upstairs and change. I'll start dinner."
"And tea, please!"
She laughed, her voice echoing from the kitchen, "That's always a must!"
The stairs creaked beneath my weight, and a flood of memories chased one another through my mind as I passed shelves laden with dusty teacups and faded portraits, the faint scent of incense stronger upstairs than below.
"Did she forget to pay the electricity bill? So many candles burning…" I whispered to myself as I neared my room.
Inside, everything was neatly arranged—my grandmother's care for order evident in every corner. I should thank her when I get the chance.
I let my hand brush the soft fabric of the bedspread. The lamp beside the bed cast a warm glow, unchallenged by shadows. Next to it, a few candles and a box of matches waited silently. Darkness could not claim me here. Grandma ensured the room shone bright through the moonlit night—both from fear of shadows and a belief that darkness hides more than what the eyes can see.
Sighing, I changed into lighter clothes, hoping for sleep's sweet relief, then descended to the kitchen, drawn by the intoxicating aroma of spices.
The delicious meal and cozy atmosphere allowed me to momentarily escape the storm swirling in my mind, a tempest as relentless as the earth spinning around the sun. After helping with the dishes and resting briefly on the couch, I retreated to my room for a nap.
But the night was restless. Tossing and turning, defeated at last, I rose and fumbled through the darkness for light. My fingers found the matchbox, and I struck a flame to a candle.
Opening the door, I stepped out, eyes too weary to close again. The glow from below beckoned me down the stairs. Grandma sat on the couch, sipping a steaming cup. She turned toward me, motioning to come sit beside her. No surprise in her eyes — she must have expected I wouldn't find peace.
Grandmothers know when you hide things — that instinct sharpens with age. Pity mine never came for me.
"I fought with Evan," I whispered, desperate to unload the heavy weight pressing on my chest.
"Tea?" she asked, pouring a fresh cup. I accepted it and took a slow sip, curling my knees to my chest. She looked at me thoughtfully.
"Was that why you were upset?"
I nodded, swallowing another mouthful before speaking.
"We fought fiercely. He said things I couldn't bear. I yelled, he yelled. It just… infuriated me that he didn't think about me, didn't want to understand me…" My hand swept across my face, the flood of memories washing over me again.
The clock ticked softly on the wall, long past midnight. I was on the verge of tears, but swallowed hard, setting the cup down.
"I never thought it would hurt this much…"
Grandma sighed, watching me lay my head on the couch. She placed her cup down too, and gently stroked my hair. I felt small again, comforted like a child after an unfair quarrel with her mother.
"Oh, my dear girl, I know… it hurts. When the person beside you lets demons take the reins…"
"Why does it have to hurt this much? Why him, of all people?" A lump formed in my throat, tears spilling uncontrollably.
She smiled, a sad, tender smile full of understanding.
"Everyone carries their demons. Not just fears or anger or needs… real shadows that linger behind us, whispering when we are weak, vulnerable, when we forget who we truly are."
Silence swallowed us whole. Her words weren't just speech — they were lived wisdom, the voice of someone who'd walked life's harsh roads.
"No one is without demons. There are only those worth fighting for, and those you must let go. You must ask yourself: can I love him whole, shadows and all? Or do I only love the part that makes me feel good? Because, my dear, nothing is perfect, and not all is rosy in love."
I blinked, confused but thoughtful.
With a long sigh, Grandma rose and moved toward the bookshelf. I watched as she rifled through old volumes, finally pulling out one older than the house itself, its pages yellowed and heavy with dust.
She blew the dust away and smiled warmly, brushing my knee gently.
"Let me tell you a story. Maybe it will help."
I settled deeper into the couch, letting the moment and the quiet wash over me, bringing the peace I so desperately needed.