Kaizer's POV
The hospital corridors were quieter than usual.
Only the occasional footsteps of nurses disturbed the silence.
I walked beside Iris.
She hadn't spoken since we left home.
I didn't need to ask why.
Every few seconds she would glance somewhere else.
Anywhere except...
me.
A tiny smile almost escaped me.
Last night's sofa incident had clearly embarrassed her far more than it embarrassed me.
I decided not to tease her.
...
For now.
Soon we reached Grandma's room.
The moment I stepped inside,
a memory resurfaced.
A small courtyard.
Summer sunlight.
Three children running around while an elderly woman laughed from a wooden chair.
"Muchkin!"
"I told you not to call me that!"
"Then catch me first."
Little Iris burst into laughter as Rian hid behind Grandma.
Grandma simply smiled and opened her arms.
The memory disappeared as quickly as it had come.
I blinked once.
Then smiled politely.
"Hello, Grandma."
She slowly looked toward us.
First Iris.
Then me.
Her eyes narrowed.
Then suddenly,
"Oh?"
A mischievous smile appeared on her face.
"You found yourself a boyfriend behind my back?"
I froze.
Beside me,
"So...no!" Iris almost immediately protested.
"He's not my boyfr—"
"Yet."
The word escaped my mouth automatically.
Silence.
...
...
I slowly realized what I had just said.
I looked straight ahead.
"...I mean yes."
No.
That sounded worse.
"I mean—"
Still worse.
"...I'm her junior."
I refused to look at Iris.
I didn't need to.
I could already imagine her expression.
Grandma burst into laughter.
"Oh my..."
Iris cleared her throat.
"Grandma...he's the one I told you about."
"The one living with me."
Grandma blinked.
"Living with you?"
"No..."
Iris sighed.
"I shifted houses."
"Our neighbour's grandson..."
She looked toward me.
"Kaizer."
Grandma stared at me for several seconds.
Nothing.
No recognition.
Only a polite smile.
"...Nice to meet you."
Something inside my chest quietly sank.
She...
didn't remember me.
...
After a while, Iris carefully took the journal from her bag.
"Grandma..."
"Do you remember this?"
Grandma adjusted her glasses.
"My journal?"
"You drew this."
Iris opened the page with the rough sketch.
"The golden threads."
Grandma leaned closer.
Her brows slowly furrowed.
"I..."
She stared.
Longer.
Then slowly shook her head.
"I don't remember drawing that."
"You don't?"
Grandma closed her eyes.
"I know this journal belongs to me..."
"But..."
"I don't remember why I drew it."
She pressed a hand gently against her forehead.
"I'm tired."
Iris immediately closed the journal.
"It's okay."
"You should rest."
Grandma smiled faintly.
"You always worry too much."
"I learned from you."
Grandma chuckled.
"I suppose that's my fault."
"I'll get your porridge."
"I'll be back."
She quietly left the room.
The door clicked shut.
Silence settled.
Grandma kept her eyes closed.
I looked at her for a moment.
Then quietly spoke.
"...Mimi?"
Her eyes opened immediately.
She looked at me.
Then...
she smiled.
"My muchkin."
I couldn't help smiling too.
"I'm not a muchkin anymore."
"You'll always be my muchkin."
Her voice was softer now.
Clearer.
Almost like the illness had disappeared for just a moment.
"You remember me?"
"How could I forget?"
She reached out and gently patted my hand.
Then looked toward the closed door.
"Our young lady..."
"...chose my muchkin."
She nodded to herself.
"I'm relieved."
I frowned.
She looked back at me.
"You know she doesn't remember..."
"I know."
"...Mom."
"...me."
Grandma sighed softly.
"And yet..."
"You two seem close."
I didn't answer.
She smiled toward the window.
"Oh, Lara..."
"You really couldn't separate what was always meant to find each other again."
I immediately looked up.
"...Mom?"
Grandma smiled.
"Lara was stubborn."
"So are you."
I hesitated.
"Mimi..."
"Can I ask something?"
"Hmm?"
"My uncle said..."
"...Mom used to hear things."
"...Things people never said."
"Then she came to you."
"And it stopped."
"Were those really hallucinations?"
Grandma looked at me quietly.
Then smiled.
"No one outside can explain..."
"...what your own soul already knows."
I stared.
"...What does that even mean?"
She only smiled.
The door opened.
Iris walked back in carrying a bowl of warm porridge.
Grandma immediately looked toward her.
"My young lady is back."
The conversation ended there.
I watched Iris patiently cool the porridge before feeding Grandma one spoon at a time.
Grandma smiled after every bite.
As if nothing serious had been discussed moments ago.
But my thoughts remained on her words.
Inside.
What your soul already knows.
Without realizing it, I listened.
The corridor outside buzzed with thoughts.
A nurse worried about medication schedules.
A doctor mentally reviewing tomorrow's surgery.
Someone praying.
Someone crying.
The familiar noise returned.
I turned toward Grandma.
Her thoughts...
were different.
Broken.
Small fragments drifting in and out.
*...little girl...*
*...dress...*
*...Lara...*
*...don't forget...*
Then...
I looked at Iris.
Like always,
I couldn't hear anything from her.
Just silence.
Grace's POV
Only two months.
Two months until the entrance examinations.
Two months until everyone expected me to decide the rest of my life.
The dining table was unusually quiet.
Dad folded the newspaper before looking at me.
"So... have you filled the medical entrance form?"
I lowered my gaze to the rice on my plate.
"No."
His hand stopped midway.
"...What do you mean no?"
"I... I was thinking..."
The words felt heavier than they should have.
"...I want to apply for an art college."
Silence.
Dad stared at me for a long moment.
Then sighed.
"Grace..."
He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"You've always liked drawing."
I nodded.
"But hobbies and careers aren't always the same thing."
"They are for me."
He looked at me again.
"I'm not saying your drawings aren't good."
"They're very good."
"But medicine gives you stability."
"It gives you respect."
"It gives you a future."
I clenched my fingers beneath the table.
"And art doesn't?"
Before Dad could answer, Mom laughed from the kitchen.
"Oh please."
She walked in carrying another bowl.
"This girl wants to do everything except what's actually worth doing."
I stayed quiet.
She kept going.
"She got good enough marks to prepare for medical college."
"Other children would be grateful."
"But not our daughter."
Dad looked toward her.
"Don't make it sound like that."
"I'm saying the truth."
She placed the bowl onto the table with a loud sound.
"You've spoiled her."
"Drawing..."
She scoffed.
"Can drawings feed you?"
Dad turned back to me.
"I'm not against your interests, Grace."
"I'm just worried."
"I don't want you regretting this ten years from now."
My throat tightened.
"I won't regret trying."
Mom folded her arms.
"Trying?"
"You'll fail before you even begin."
My fingers started trembling.
I quickly hid them under the table.
Dad noticed.
His voice softened.
"You still have two months before the entrances."
"Think carefully."
"I'm asking as your father."
"I have."
I whispered.
"I've been thinking for years."
Mom suddenly stepped closer.
"Years?"
"So all the money we spent..."
"...all the coaching..."
"...you were planning to throw it away?"
I looked down.
"I never asked for medical coaching."
The words had barely left my mouth—
Slap.
My face turned to one side.
The room fell silent.
Dad immediately stood up.
"What are you doing?"
"She keeps answering back!"
Mom snapped.
"That's because nobody has ever taught her discipline."
I slowly touched my cheek.
It stung.
But not as much as my chest.
Dad looked between us before letting out a tired sigh.
"Enough."
Nobody spoke.
I quietly stood up.
"...I'm leaving for work."
Neither of them stopped me.
---
The cold evening air hit my face the moment I stepped outside.
I took a deep breath.
One.
Two.
Three.
My hands were still shaking.
I stuffed them into my hoodie pockets.
"It's okay."
I whispered to myself.
"Just breathe."
Soon the familiar office building appeared before me.
For some reason...
Walking inside always made me feel lighter.
---
"Grace!"
One of the senior designers called.
"Come here."
I hurried over.
Several people were gathered around a large digital display.
Character sketches covered the screen.
One designer scratched his head.
"We're stuck."
"The clients say she doesn't feel relatable."
Another sighed.
"She looks strong..."
"...but players don't connect with her."
They continued discussing different outfits.
Different hairstyles.
Different expressions.
Nothing worked.
I quietly listened.
Then...
"...Can I say something?"
Everyone looked toward me.
One of them smiled.
"Go ahead."
I hesitated.
"What if..."
"...she doesn't look strong?"
A few eyebrows rose.
"What do you mean?"
I stepped closer to the screen.
"What if she looks..."
I searched for the right word.
"...ordinary."
I pointed at the sketch.
"Remove the expensive armour."
"Give her simple clothes."
"Make her look like someone people would overlook."
Another designer frowned.
"Wouldn't that make her weak?"
I slowly shook my head.
"No."
"It would make her human."
The room became quiet.
I continued.
"People don't become attached to perfect characters."
"They become attached to characters who are scared..."
"...who fail..."
"...who are underestimated..."
"...and still choose to move forward."
I looked at the sketch again.
"Don't make her strength visible."
"Make people discover it."
Nobody spoke.
One senior designer slowly leaned back in his chair.
"...That's..."
He looked at the others.
"...actually brilliant."
Another nodded.
"I like it."
"Her strength shouldn't be in how she looks."
"It should be in what she chooses."
Someone immediately began editing the concept.
As they discussed my idea, I quietly stepped back.
A small smile finally found its way onto my face.
For the first time that day...
I felt like someone had actually listened.