Salma was a city girl. From living with her parents to alone as an adult, she had lived only in the city. The notice that her grandfather died had come out of nowhere, mainly because Salma barely remembered the last time she had seen him. A long time ago. She hadn’t remembered the cottage he had lived in for most of his life. She had been here once before. It was brighter then, but it might have been in the height of summer.

She remembered her grandfather as grumpy. But he had also been strong. She had always reached upward and he had given up his frown to bend down, pick her up, and raise her up into the air. She remembered him holding her up for a long time, much to her childish delight.

Everything else was too vague. Her memory gave her flashes, nothing more. Salma didn’t find the point of thinking back on it too much. He had given her, out of everything, his cottage and all of the belongings that were not specified as belonging to others. After a week, asking officials to help find where on the map the address might actually be, she found this place once more.