Grandma Rena lived in a wooden house that had stood for nearly forty years. The walls were old, the paint was fading, and the roof creaked whenever the wind visited. But what hurt her the most wasn’t the age of the house — it was the silence inside it.

Silence so deep, it felt like the house was holding its breath.

A Morning That Always Started the Same

Rena woke up every day before sunrise.
Not because she wanted to — but because her body had grown used to the loneliness.

She boiled water for tea, sat by the kitchen table, and stared at the empty seat across from her.
That seat once belonged to her husband, Jaya, a man whose laughter used to fill every corner of the home.

Now only the kettle made noise.

And even that noise disappeared too quickly.

The World Outside Kept Moving Without Her

Through the kitchen window, she watched neighbors leaving for work, children running to school, and motorcycles rushing by. Life outside continued at full speed.

Her life, however, stayed slow.
Almost frozen.

She wanted to wave at someone, but she felt embarrassed — she feared people no longer remembered her name.

Afternoons That Hurt the Most

Every afternoon, Rena sat on her small porch with a notebook on her lap. She wasn’t writing stories or poems. She was writing letters she never sent.

Letters to her children who lived far away.

Letters that always began with the same line:

“I hope you’re doing well. I miss you.”

She didn’t send them because she didn’t want her children to worry.
She didn’t want to be a burden.
So she kept the letters in a drawer next to her bed — more than a hundred of them.

All sealed.
All unread.
All filled with quiet pain.

Evenings That Felt Like Endless Tunnels

When the sun went down, her house grew colder.
She turned on the small table lamp beside her bed, and shadows filled the room.
The shadows didn’t scare her.

What scared her was the thought that one day, no one would discover the letters she kept hidden.

She whispered softly to herself:

“Why does growing old feel so lonely?”

No answer came.
Only the soft hum of the lamp.

A Memory That Returned to Comfort Her

On one especially silent night, she remembered something her husband told her years ago:

“Loneliness visits everyone, but it never stays forever.”

She closed her eyes and imagined him sitting beside her, smiling gently with his wrinkled eyes. The memory warmed her heart, even if it was only for a short moment.

Sometimes, memories were her only friends.

A Small Change Arrives Unexpectedly

One weekend morning, Rena heard the sound of footsteps outside.
Slow, hesitant footsteps.

When she opened her door, she found a little girl standing there, holding a small paper drawing.

“Grandma,” the child said shyly, “my mom told me to give this to you. I made it yesterday.”

The drawing was simple — a picture of a house with a garden and a smiling grandma standing in front. But to Rena, it felt like a hug.

A real hug.

Her eyes softened.
An invisible weight in her chest lifted a little.

The House Begins to Speak Again

After that day, the child visited her often — sometimes with cookies, sometimes with stories from school, sometimes just to talk.

And slowly…

The old wooden house didn’t feel so silent anymore.

The walls seemed warmer.
The rooms felt brighter.
And Rena felt something she had forgotten for a long time:

She still mattered.