The smell of fried chicken and hot noodles filled the narrow street every afternoon.
At the corner stood a small shop with a faded red sign:
GRANDPA'S NOODLES
It wasn't a fancy restaurant.
There were only six wooden tables, an old refrigerator that made strange noises, and a tiny kitchen where Vash's grandmother could somehow cook ten orders at once without making a mistake.
And then there was Vash.
"Vash!"
The shout came from the kitchen.
Vash froze.
He was crouching behind the counter with a piece of fried chicken in his hand.
Slowly, he looked toward the kitchen.
His grandmother stood there with her hands on her waist.
"Put that chicken back."
Vash looked at the chicken.
Then at his grandmother.
"I was just checking if it was cooked."
"You've checked six pieces."
Vash smiled innocently.
"Quality control."
His grandfather, sitting behind the cash counter, burst out laughing.
"Good excuse!"
"Don't encourage him," Grandma said.
Vash quickly stuffed the chicken into his mouth.
His grandmother sighed.
"You're going to be the death of me."
Vash grinned.
He was twelve years old and had mastered two important skills.
The first was escaping homework.
The second was stealing chicken without getting caught.
Unfortunately, his grandmother was better at catching him than he was at stealing.
"Vash," Grandpa called.
"Yes?"
"Did you finish your homework?"
Vash stopped chewing.
Grandpa raised an eyebrow.
Vash swallowed.
"Almost."
Grandma immediately looked at him.
"How much?"
Vash thought carefully.
"Most of it."
"How much is most?"
"Three questions."
Grandpa laughed again.
Grandma shook her head.
"Go do your homework."
"But there are customers."
"There are no customers."
Vash looked around the empty shop.
"Exactly. Someone needs to stay here and protect the shop."
Grandma pointed toward the small table in the corner.
"Homework. Now."
Vash sighed dramatically and walked away.
His grandfather watched him with a smile.
"He'll become a good man."
Grandma glanced at Vash.
"I hope so."
For a moment, her expression changed.
Something about those words seemed heavier than they should have been.
Grandpa noticed.
He said nothing.
Vash didn't notice either.
He was too busy drawing a moustache on the cartoon character in his mathematics textbook.
---
Vash had lived with his grandparents for as long as he could remember.
Whenever someone asked about his parents, his grandparents gave him the same answer.
"They're away."
That was all.
When Vash was younger, he had asked where they had gone.
His grandmother had told him they were working.
When he got older, he asked again.
The answer changed slightly.
"They had their reasons."
Vash hated that answer.
It made no sense.
Sometimes, when he asked too many questions, his grandfather would change the subject.
Vash had eventually learned to stop asking.
Mostly.
There was one photograph of his parents in the house.
It was kept inside an old wooden drawer.
Vash had seen it only once.
He remembered his mother's face.
He remembered his father's hand resting on her shoulder.
But he didn't remember their voices.
That bothered him.
Sometimes, late at night, Vash wondered whether they remembered him.
He never asked his grandparents.
Not anymore.
---
The next morning, Vash arrived at school five minutes late.
Again.
His teacher looked at him over her glasses.
"Vash."
He stopped at the classroom door.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Why are you late?"
Vash looked at the clock.
Then at his teacher.
Then back at the clock.
"I was helping my grandfather."
The teacher softened slightly.
"Helping him with what?"
Vash thought for a moment.
"Eating noodles."
The entire class burst into laughter.
His teacher closed her eyes.
"Sit down."
"Yes, ma'am."
Vash walked to his seat with a grin.
Rohan leaned toward him.
"You're going to get expelled one day."
Vash whispered back.
"Then I'll have more time to play."
Priya, sitting in front of them, turned around.
"You two are idiots."
Rohan looked offended.
"Why am I included?"
"Because you're friends with him."
Vash smiled.
Priya was one of his oldest friends.
She had lived in the neighborhood since they were children.
Rohan had too.
The three of them had practically grown up together.
They weren't the smartest kids in class.
They weren't the most popular.
But they were always together.
During lunch.
After school.
On weekends.
Whenever Vash got into trouble, Rohan was usually nearby.
And whenever Vash needed someone to help him escape that trouble, Priya was usually the one he called.
That afternoon, when the final bell rang, Vash grabbed his bag.
"Come on."
Rohan stood up.
"Where?"
"Home."
Priya stared at him.
"That's the first sensible thing you've said today."
Vash grinned.
"I have to help Grandpa at the shop."
They walked out of school together.
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky.
The streets were busy.
People were returning home from work.
Motorcycles passed them.
Cars moved through the traffic.
The three friends walked side by side, arguing about which one of them would become successful first.
"I'll become a businessman," Rohan announced.
Priya laughed.
"You can't even save your lunch money."
"That's because I invest it in snacks."
Vash laughed.
Then he looked ahead.
For just a moment, he felt strangely happy.
His grandparents.
His friends.
His little home.
His grandfather's noodle shop.
His ordinary life.
He didn't know it yet, but this ordinary life wouldn't last forever.
Because tomorrow, Vash would make a choice that would change everything.