Poison of love

Jessica

After saying goodbye to my mother, I head toward the car parked in the reserved spot. I start the engine, and while it warms up, I call my grandmother to let her know I'm on my way. It's been too long since I last saw her; ever since Grandpa passed, she's found refuge in traveling, spending most of her time abroad with her lifelong friends. Her last trip was to Dubai. I still remember the photos she sent me from the spa, getting a massage from a young man not much older than me, and how she'd send me spectacular views, knowing that I, meanwhile, was buried in study.
There's a part of me that envies her—the freedom in her lifestyle, the chance to explore the world and learn about new cultures. I want that too, but I know I first need to carve my own path through commitment and dedication to my studies.
When I arrive at my grandmother's house, the gate is open. I park under the big lemon tree that Grandpa planted many years ago when he was still young and full of life. I get out of the car and breathe in the fresh garden air, mixed with the citrus scent that's so familiar to me. It's strange to think this place has remained unchanged over time, even though everything around us has changed so much.
My grandmother waits for me on the doorstep. She's wearing one of her light, colorful dresses—the kind she always wears when she returns from her travels, as if she's brought back a piece of each place she visited. She smiles and hugs me tightly, with that embrace that has always made me feel at home.
"Finally, you're here," she says in her cheerful tone, though I sense a certain weariness in her eyes. "I missed you."
"I missed you too, Grandma," I reply, letting myself be wrapped in the warmth of her presence. It's such a contrast—her life of adventure and freedom, and mine, full of responsibilities and commitments. And yet, we are bound by something deep, something unchanging.
We go inside and sit in the kitchen, another place steeped in memories. She makes tea, just as she did when I was a child, and as she pours it into the cups, she begins to tell me about her latest trip. She speaks of crowded markets, endless deserts, and people she met along the way. Her voice is full of life, and for a moment, I lose myself in her words, imagining those far-off places.
Then, suddenly, her voice lowers.
"You know," she says, looking out the window, "I'm thinking of stopping for a while. Traveling is wonderful, but there's something I miss."
I look at her, surprised. I've never seen her so reflective.
"What do you miss, Grandma?" She smiles, but her gaze is serious. "A sense of belonging. Knowing I have a steady place, someone to share daily life with. Maybe I'm tired of always being just passing through."
I sit quietly, reflecting on those words. Maybe, deep down, we're not so different. We both seek a balance between the freedom to pursue our dreams and the desire to be part of something stable, something concrete.
I remain silent, letting her words settle in the air like fallen leaves. I never expected that she, of all people, might feel the need to pause. Grandma has always been the emblem of freedom, of living life without constraints, and now here she is, in front of me, wrapped in a new awareness that seems to envelop her like a veil.
"You know, Grandma," I say softly, "I feel that way sometimes too. I'm always focused on the future, on what I have to achieve. But I wonder if, in the end, chasing all this will really make me happy."
She looks at me, and her gaze softens, more maternal.
"What truly matters is balance," she says, placing a gentle hand on mine. "Chasing your dreams is important, but so is living in the present. You can't spend your life only preparing for what's to come. You need to find your stability, but also allow yourself to discover, to explore."
Her words strike me deeply. Maybe that's the key: it's not just about sacrifice and hard work, but also about enjoying the journey, about allowing oneself to live.
"Are you saying I should slow down?" I ask, with a half-smile to lighten the conversation. She laughs, a laugh like a melody.
"Don't slow down, dear. Just don't forget to look around you every now and then. Life is too short to spend all your time looking ahead without ever stopping to take in where you are now." I nod, feeling the weight of those words. It's advice I won't forget. We sit in silence for a moment, simply enjoying each other's company. Then, as if she just remembered something important, Grandma stands up briskly.
"Wait a moment," she says, heading toward the living room. "I have something for you." She returns a few minutes later with a small wooden box, decorated with fine, intricate inlays. She places it on the table in front of me.
"I got this on one of my trips with your grandfather, a long time ago. I always thought that one day, it would be yours."
I open the box carefully. Inside, there's an antique silver pocket watch, old but perfectly preserved. I pick it up, feeling the cool metal against my fingers. It's an object from another era, filled with history and meaning.
"It was your grandfather's," she says with a nostalgic smile. "He always carried it with him. He said it reminded him that time is precious and shouldn't be wasted." Her words touch me again, like a revelation. I gaze at the watch for a moment, feeling somehow more connected to my grandfather, to that part of the family that, even though it's gone, still lives on through us.
"Thank you, Grandma," I whisper, deeply moved. She nods.
"Don't forget, though," she adds with a playful note in her voice, "that it's not just time that's precious, but how you use it." We remain like that, in that simple but meaningful moment.
The sky is clear, dotted with stars that seem to light up as the sun disappears beyond the horizon. There's a calm in the air, as if the whole world has slowed down to grant us this moment. My mother is driving, I'm seated next to her, while my grandmother settles into the back seat, chatting as usual.
The sound of the wheels on the asphalt accompanies Grandma's words, as she continues to recount stories from her travels. My mother listens with an amused smile, occasionally adding a comment or a laugh. I, on the other hand, remain silent, lost in my thoughts. I turn toward my mother, who drives with that focused, serene expression she always has when we're on a journey together. I think about how she has been a constant presence in my life, a sort of lighthouse in the storm, and I wonder if she has ever felt the same restlessness I feel now, this conflict between wanting to build something stable and the yearning for freedom.
"Mom," I start, not exactly sure where I'm going with this. "Have you ever felt like you were running without really knowing where? Like you're searching for something, but you're not quite sure what it is?"
She glances sideways at me, surprised by my question.
"Of course," she answers after a pause, with a gentle smile. "It happens to everyone, sooner or later. But you know what I've learned?" I wait, curious to hear her answer.
"That often, what we're searching for isn't something outside, but something within us. And to find it, sometimes we just need to... stop." She pauses, then adds, "When I was younger, I was running too. I worked, I studied, trying to build the perfect future. But at some point, I realized I wasn't really living. I was missing the moments, the little things, and those are what make the difference. Grandma's right, you know? Balance is everything. And it's not easy to find, but when you do, it changes your life."
I stay silent, absorbing those words. I realize that perhaps part of this constant race comes from my desire not to disappoint them—my mother, my grandmother, my grandfather. But maybe what they really want for me isn't that I follow their example exactly but that I find my own path, at my own pace.
"You're right," I finally say, looking out the window, as the sun has now fully set. "Maybe I need to slow down a bit. To enjoy the present more."
My mother smiles and nods, as if she knows exactly what I mean. Meanwhile, Grandma, from the back seat, interrupts her story and leans forward slightly.
"What are you two talking about, hmm? Did I miss something important?"
We all laugh, and for a moment, everything feels simple, light, as if the world had really stopped to grant us this little moment of shared happiness.

We arrive at the restaurant around nine, just as my mother had planned. The warm, dim lights create a welcoming atmosphere, and the glass window looking out onto the garden reflects the delicate shadows of plants swaying in the evening breeze. My mother parks the car with her usual precision, and as soon as we get out, my grandmother, elegant in her colorful dress, takes a deep breath of fresh air, smiling.
"Ah, I've always loved this place," she says, glancing at the familiar sign. "You can really feel a certain tranquility here, don't you?" I nod, trying to smile, even though a nervousness grows within me. We step into the restaurant, greeted by the warmth of the wooden decor and the inviting aroma of dishes being served to the tables. My mother confidently approaches the waiter, who escorts us to a table by the window, a cozy corner that isolates us from the rest of the restaurant.
"Here we are," my mother says, flashing one of her radiant smiles. "I hope they still have your favorite dish." We sit down, and the waiter promptly brings us the menus. My grandmother browses through it with curiosity, as if it's her first time eating here, even though I know her well—she already knows what she'll order.
"I'll have the usual," she announces with a laugh. "I never get tired of the homemade pasta. And you, darling?" she asks, looking at me with her gentle gaze. I take a few extra seconds to decide, but it's not the menu that's distracting me. I'm trying not to think about Mason and just enjoy the evening.
"I think I'll go with something classic too," I reply without giving it too much thought.
During dinner, the conversation between my mother and grandmother flows easily, filled with memories and laughter. But my mind is elsewhere. I wonder what he's doing right now... if, by any chance, he's thinking about me. But what am I saying? Of course not. He's never thought about me, and I'm foolish even to imagine it. I push those thoughts aside and focus on the plate of pasta the waiter just served me.
"Sweetheart, why isn't your prince with us tonight?" my grandmother asks, with that curiosity I know all too well. There it is—I was waiting for the moment Mason would come up.
"Unfortunately, he couldn't make it; he already had plans," I reply, trying to be vague, hoping the topic ends there.
"When are you going to introduce him? Your mother told me he's even more handsome than you described." I immediately feel my cheeks heat up at the thought of Mason, his emerald-green eyes, his strong build, and that piercing gaze that makes me lose my mind.
"Jess? Are you all right? You've gone all red all of a sudden!" says my grandmother, amused by my obvious unease. I'm dazed for a moment, but I try to return to reality.
"What? No, it's just that... it's a little warm in here," I say awkwardly, trying to steer the conversation away. She watches me with a puzzled expression, waiting for something more.
"I'll introduce him to you soon, don't worry, Grandma," I finally reply, trying to keep my voice steady as I shake off the slight embarrassment.
After dinner, I walk Grandma home and then head back to my place. Once inside, I go up to my room, change into my favorite pajamas with little cats on them, and make my way to the living room. I sit down on the couch, looking for a movie to watch, while my mother prepares a big bowl of popcorn. In the end, we pick one of our favorite films, Notting Hill, a romantic comedy we've watched countless times.
About halfway through the movie, I feel my phone vibrate on the armrest of the couch. I reach for it and see Mason's name on the screen. A pang shoots through my chest. Why is he calling me? This can't be right—maybe it's a mistake, or maybe it was an accidental call. I stare at the screen, my hand trembling, uncertain of what to do.
"Aren't you going to answer?" my mother asks, snapping me out of my brief daze, resting a hand on my shoulder.
"Oh, yes, of course. Sorry, I'll be right back!" I jump up and rush upstairs to my room. Taking a deep breath, I swipe my finger across the screen and answer.
"Hello?" I say in a low voice.
"Thank goodness you answered." It's not Mason's voice. I pause for a second, processing, and realize it's Will.
"Will? Why are you calling me from Mason's phone?" I ask, confused.
"I didn't know how else to reach you, and I grabbed his phone. I need you; you have to come here right away."
"Did something serious happen?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly.
"Nothing serious—at least, not yet. I can't explain over the phone. Can you come, please?" I take a deep breath, steeling myself.
"All right, send me the location," I reply.