It was getting evening, and she sat on the wooden chair in the lawn, her head lowered as she focused on the activity of the ants on the grass.
As the ants formed a line, passing close to her feet, she was simply staring at them.
"So, what did you learn?"
She flinched at Grandpa's sudden question, and as soon as she lifted her head, she found Grandpa in front of her, offering a cup of tea.
"Why did you go through the trouble?" she asked Grandpa in a voice full of regret.
Seeing her innocent face, Grandpa said, 'Well, usually you serve the tea, but today, seeing you, it didn't seem like you were in any condition to do so, so I brought it myself.'"
"Actually, I'm a bit confused with my new painting. I have no clue how to end it. Last night, without thinking much, I painted an umbrella on the canvas. Now, I'm not sure how to finish it or what to add next."
Clarifying the reason for her worry, she replied to Grandpa.
Her cheeks were flushed, and there was fatigue in her eyes. It was clearly evident that she had deprived herself of sleep since last night.
"Alright, then do what you always do," Grandpa said, winking at her.
"Hmm, but I don't know if that method will work this time or not."
The confusion that was clouding her mind, she responded according to it. She often makes big decisions in just a few seconds, yet at times, she lets even the smallest things fill her with extreme uncertainty.
Upon hearing her, Grandpa smiled and, taking a sip of tea, said, 'Alright, first have some tea. Don't keep it waiting.'
She smiled faintly and then began drinking her tea.
Both were silently enjoying their tea. When Grandpa's gaze fell on the bottle gourd plants, he said, 'Their season is about to come too.'
"Yes, as soon as summer begins, you'll see how this lawn transforms into a small garden. This time, Mom has planted bottle gourd, tomatoes, peas, and other vegetables here. You won't need to buy vegetables from the market all summer."
"Your mother is very talented. Even after marriage, she didn't let any of her passions die. Whether it's painting, gardening, or cooking, she's skilled in every art."
After hearing Grandpa's words, she fell silent and began to think to herself.
She is the only inspiration, her mother. Indeed, her mother is very talented and does everything beautifully. She raised five children, managed the household, and then, as an artist, made a name for herself. Those close to her also know her as an excellent chef and gardener.
Hannah wants to be just like that. In her eyes, her mother is perfect, and she wants to be perfect too.
After all, she is Fiza Hisham's daughter.
It was around 8 PM when a dark blue Rolls-Royce pulled up and came to a stop in one of Karachi's most upscale neighborhoods.
As the car came to a stop, a young man in a black coat quickly exited. One hand held a stack of files, while the other reached out to open the car door.
As the car door opened, a young man, around 27 or 28 years old, dressed in a white thobe, stepped out from inside the vehicle.
The Rolls-Royce door closed behind them, and the two of them turned towards a white bungalow ahead.
In the young man's hand, a golden-colored watch gleamed under the dim lights, its shine almost blinding. In his other hand, he held a bouquet of flowers, the delicate petals adding a touch of elegance. With a faint smile playing on his illuminated face, he stepped forward, his presence radiating confidence and grace.
"Salam, Bhai," the bungalow's gatekeeper greeted him with a respectful nod as he saw him approaching.
"Peace unto you," the young man responded with a soft smile, his voice barely above a whisper.
"She's home, right?" the young man asked, his tone carrying a hint of anticipation.
"Yes," the gatekeeper replied, nodding before unlocking the gate.
The entire bungalow was painted white on the inside, giving the impression that its inhabitant had a deep fondness for the color. At the beginning of the property, a rose garden flourished, with roses of every variety blooming in vibrant colors. A path ran through the center of the garden, leading directly to the bungalow's entrance gate. The pathway was made of gleaming white marble, adding to the elegance of the scene.
The marble was so pure and translucent that it gave the illusion of walking on water, as if the surface itself were a calm, reflective pool.
Upon entering the bungalow, every visitor is welcomed by the refreshing fragrance of roses that fills the air. Then, as their gaze falls upon the stunning floor, they are captivated by its beauty. After a moment of admiration, their eyes move to the bungalow itself, which, in the dim light of the night, gleams like a star, its white walls glowing softly in the darkness.
As he entered the bungalow, another fragrance reached his senses, distinct from the roses. He turned his head in the direction of the scent, pausing for a few seconds to take it in before continuing forward. The young man accompanying him noticed his reaction and quickly realized that the unfamiliar scent of flowers had caught his attention.
"Ohhh, Grandpa, look! A crab!" Safira exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. She quickly took out her phone and began snapping pictures of it.
Grandpa signaled for Safira to be quiet, as he observed Hannah, who was trying to focus, attempting to complete her painting.
Annoyed by Grandpa and Hannah's behavior, Safira couldn't help but mutter, "Grandpa, focus? A person focuses when they're sitting peacefully at home, not here on the beach, trying to figure out what Hannah's focus even is."
"Look, dear, every person has their own way and mindset. You focus at home, and she focuses here on the beach," Grandpa replied with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
"It's not about the beach, it's just that I find peace in watching the rise and fall of the waves. It helps me complete my painting in a much better way," Hannah said, placing her paintbrush down and picking up a piece of corn.
"Then it's all about the beach after all!" Safira retorted, a playful grin spreading across her face.