Chapter 9 A visit to love.

The rain had begun just as Aria stepped out of the Blackwood building; soft and misty at first, sky itself was sighing. She tightened the scarf around her neck and pulled her coat tighter. The city buzzed around her, but it all felt like background noise. Her legs carried her in the familiar direction-the one they always did when her heart was heavy. Toward the old neighborhood. Toward her grandmother. The nursing home was still the same, nothing changes much here but it was the best in town, and her grandma had chosen this place herself so she wouldn't be too far away from Aria.

It had been too long since her last visit. Work had consumed her. Life had swallowed her. But guilt? Guilt had been loud. And today, it was unbearable. She wanted to see her, she could not wait for any other day to see her, it had already been long enough to her. Her grandmother was her only relative alive, and seeing her made her feel less lonely. It gave her hope that atleast she had that one thing she was dedicated to working hard for.

She boarded the crowded bus, the air thick with the scent of damp coats and sweat. Her phone buzzed in her pocket-probably a work message, maybe a reminder-but she didn't look. For the next hour, she wouldn't be Aria the cleaner or the girl struggling to stay afloat. She would just be a granddaughter, returning home.

The streets narrowed as the bus drove farther from the towering skyscrapers, the glass-and-steel world melting into something more weathered, more human. When she finally stepped off, the rain had faded into a light drizzle. She turned onto a quiet lane lined with overgrown hedges and uneven sidewalks. She knew every crack in this road, every tree that leaned too far over.

And then she saw it-the old cream-painted building, four stories high with ivy climbing up its sides. The assisted living home. The place her grandmother now called home.

She signed in quickly at the front desk, her heart already racing ahead of her. The receptionist offered her a small, knowing smile. "Room 12. She's been waiting."

Aria nodded, throat tight. She didn't know how her grandmother did it-waiting, always waiting for a girl who was constantly late, who constantly promised she'd visit "soon." Yet every time, she welcomed her with arms wide open. No judgment. Just love.

The hallway to Room 12 smelled faintly of rose lotion and bleach. As Aria approached, her footsteps slowed. The door was slightly ajar. She knocked once and pushed it open gently.

Her grandmother sat by the window in her usual chair, a blanket over her knees and a paperback book open on her lap. Her silver hair was tied back into a loose bun, and her glasses sat slightly askew on her nose. Despite the frailty of her frame, there was still something vibrant in her-the way her eyes lit up the moment she looked up.

"Aria," she whispered, her voice raspy but full of warmth.

Aria rushed in, dropping her bag to the floor as she knelt beside her. "Hi, Nana," she said softly, pressing a kiss to her grandmother's hand. "I'm so sorry it took me so long."

Her grandmother smiled and brushed a strand of damp hair from Aria's forehead. "You're here now. That's what matters."

Aria sat with her for a moment in silence, just holding her hand. The sound of the rain tapping against the window filled the room like a lullaby.

"I missed you," Aria finally said. Her voice cracked. "So much."

"I missed you too, child. You look tired." Her grandmother tilted her head, the way only someone who knew you deeply could. "What's troubling you?"

Aria wanted to lie. To say she was fine, to protect this woman who had already given her everything. But her guard fell. She leaned her head on her grandmother's knee like she had as a child, and the words came out in a rush.

"I lost my job. Then I got another one-but it's hard. It's exhausting. I clean for a man who barely acknowledges me unless he's annoyed. I'm not sure I belong there. I'm not sure I belong anywhere." Her voice trembled. "And I've been trying to be strong. For you. For everything. But I feel like I'm disappearing, Nana,"

There was a pause. Then her grandmother's fingers stroked her hair, slow and patient. "You are not disappearing, Aria. You are becoming. Becoming takes time. Becoming takes pain."

Aria lifted her head. Her grandmother's eyes glistened, wise and weathered.

"You come from women who've carried fire in their bones," she continued. "You think cleaning floors makes you less? Child, no job is beneath someone who works with honor. And that man-your boss-he does not define your worth. You carry your own name, but do not overwork yourself okay? You are still young, if that job is hard, look for another one okay? You still have time...don't push yourself too hard darling..."

Aria's chest tightened. Tears she had held back for weeks finally spilled down her cheeks. Her grandmother didn't wipe them away. She just held her, letting her cry.

"You remind me of your mother," the old woman murmured. "Stubborn. Gentle. Brave when no one was watching. She would be proud of you."

Aria nodded against her shoulder. "I hope so."

The rain had stopped by the time Aria helped her grandmother up from the chair. The room was small, but cozy. A few framed photos sat on the dresser-Aria as a child in pigtails, her mother smiling in a summer dress, and one photo of all three of them, back when the world felt a little kinder.

"Let's sit on the bed," Aria suggested, gently guiding her grandmother. "You've been in that chair too long."

Her grandmother chuckled softly. "You sound like the nurses. Always fussing."

"You love it," Aria teased, earning a wink.

They sat side by side on the bed, fingers laced. The silence was comfortable now. Heavier, but warmer.

Her grandmother suddenly turned to her. "Tell me everything. Not the version you tell strangers. The real one."

Aria bit her lip. "Okay..."

She started slowly, describing the first day at Blackwood Company-how massive the building felt, how small she'd felt inside it. She told her about the uniform, the polished halls, the whispered gossip in the break room. About the way Lucien Blackwood's name carried weight like thunder, and how she had been assigned to his floor, to his office, to his space.

"I'm his personal cleaner," she explained. "Just me. For him. His office, his corridor, his washroom. I see him every day, and most of the time... he doesn't even say a word."

Her grandmother tilted her head thoughtfully. "But he sees you, doesn't he?"

"I don't know," Aria murmured. "Sometimes I think he does. There are moments... weird moments. Like he watches me when he thinks I'm not looking. Or he says something in a tone that feels... personal. But then the next minute, he's cold again. Like nothing happened."

"Men like him often live in cages made of pride," her grandmother said. "They only know how to push people away. It doesn't mean you're invisible. Sometimes it means you're the only one they see."

Aria blinked. "But why me?"

Her grandmother shrugged. "Why not you?"

They both laughed quietly, the tension easing a little.

Aria stood and walked to the window. Outside, the garden behind the facility shimmered with the recent rain. Trees swayed gently, and a few elderly residents sat under the sheltering gazebo.

"I feel like I'm always running," she whispered. "From job to job. From one version of myself to another. I don't know who I'm becoming anymore."

Her grandmother's voice came from behind her, firm and full of love. "You are becoming someone brave. Someone who fights. Someone who refuses to stay down."

Aria turned, leaning against the windowpane. "It doesn't feel like that."

"Because you're in the middle of the storm. But storms pass, Aria. And when they do, you'll be different. Stronger. Clearer."

A knock came at the door, soft. A nurse peeked in with a warm smile. "Ms. Aria, we're about to serve dinner. Would your grandmother like her usual?"

"Yes, please," Aria replied. "And I'll stay with her while she eats."

The nurse nodded and disappeared.

Her grandmother gave her a sly grin. "They serve me overcooked peas and call it gourmet."

Aria chuckled. "I'll smuggle you cookies."

"Make it chocolate this time....i don't want cookies this time"

The food came in soon after-simple, soft, and bland. Aria helped her grandmother eat, cutting the meat into smaller bites, gently wiping her chin when she missed. It was intimate. Familiar. And humbling.

Every movement reminded her of how time had changed things. How the woman who once carried her on her back now needed help lifting a spoon. And yet, there was still so much fire in her. So much soul.

When the plate was cleared, they sat in silence again, holding hands beneath the knitted blanket. Aria rested her head on her grandmother's shoulder.

"I wish I could bring you home," she whispered.

Her grandmother kissed her temple. "I'm already home, child. You are my home."

Aria swallowed the lump in her throat. "You deserve better....don't you want to see me every day?"

"I've lived long enough to know that better isn't always about where you are," she replied. "It's about who loves you. And I've never doubted your love."

Aria clung to that sentence like an anchor.