Sabina gently leaned down and touched his shoulder.
— Do you want to come in? It’s cold. And… everything inside is just as it was.
Timur nodded, unable to utter a word. His steps were heavy, yet sacred. It felt as if every inch of the floor reminded him of another time: the smell of bread, his mother’s face, the fabric of the quilt she had sewn. In the kitchen, on the table, there was still a crocheted doily, and on the wall — the icon of the Virgin Mary, next to which his mother lit a candle every evening.
— I couldn’t bring myself to change anything, — murmured Sabina. — Grandma said that one day you would come. And that you should find the house just as you left it.
Timur sat down on the chair where his father once sat. He caressed it with his palm, as if it were a living memory.
— Was she angry with me?
— Never. Just… longing. So much longing. She spoke to you in her thoughts. She set aside some of the coliva for you at the memorial services. And always, always she whispered “Happy birthday” to you on every birthday.
Timur ran his hand over his face. So many tears held within him were now flowing freely. He took his head in his hands and sighed:
— I was a fool. A proud fool who buried his life in business. He forgot his roots. And now… now even forgiveness has no one to ask for it.
Sabina approached and placed an old key in his palm.
— Grandma said that if you ever come, the house is yours. But she also told me… to give you the letter and then show you her favorite place.
They went out into the garden. Behind the house, among the old apple trees, there was a bench. That was where his mother used to sit, watching the sunset every evening.
Timur sat on the bench. There, in the quiet of the village, with the gentle wind caressing his temples, he felt for the first time that he was home again.
The next morning, early, he went to church. He lit a candle and fell to his knees, eyes closed, saying in his thoughts:
“Mother, I have come. Perhaps late. But I have come.”
And perhaps, somewhere, beyond time, Rania was finally smiling.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
