Hey everyone. I'm currently on a sick leave from work and my head is feeling pretty fuzzy, so I'm extra open to hearing any suggestions or thoughts you might have on the story so far. Your feedback really helps! Hope you're enjoying Ryan's journey.
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The bell above the door of the corner shop jingled, a thin, cheap sound swallowed by the cramped aisles. Ryan stood in front of a shelf of biscuits, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. His eyes flicked between the list and the packets, his brow furrowed in concentration.
He was so focused he didn't hear the approach.
A familiar, stinging slap landed on the back of his neck. "Trouble. What are you doing here?"
Ryan didn't even flinch. He just sighed, the sound heavy with long-suffering. He finally turned, fixing Karim with a deadpan stare. "Building a rocket launcher," he said, his voice utterly flat. "Trying to decide who we should bomb first. Got any suggestions?"
Karim's eyes lit up. "Ooh, I have a few ideas. But that's extra-large trouble, even for you."
Ryan looked genuinely disgusted. "We need to retire 'Trouble'," he said, selecting a packet of biscuits. "You sound like an NPC in a low-budget game, spamming the same line over and over."
Karim nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. "Mmm. True."
He watched as Ryan continued his methodical shopping, dropping a few more items into his plastic basket without another word.
Ryan gave the crumpled list a final glance. "Alright, mission accomplished," he muttered to himself. "Flour, sugar, butter, nuts... All loot acquired."
He looked down at the collection of ingredients. In his mind's eye, the crafting recipe materialized perfectly. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
She's making baklava. For sure.
"Found it," Karim announced, snapping Ryan from his thoughts. He was holding up a specific brand of soda.
Ryan looked at him, his expression utterly deadpan. "You're still here?"
"Yup, Malin. I'm still here," Karim said, popping the 'p' with a grin.
Ryan sighed, long and suffering. "Do you even know what that word means?"
Karim rolled his eyes. "Of course! It's your new nickname."
Ryan shook his head, grabbing his basket and turning towards the checkout. "I don't know what's worse," he muttered. "Your crossing or your naming."
Karim shook his head, a triumphant smirk on his face as Ryan walked away. "I'm sure if you look up the definition in the dictionary, they'll have your photo as the example!"
Ryan didn't bother turning around. He just waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "Whatever. Go away, I have major decisions to make."
He moved to the chocolate aisle, his focus shifting entirely. He picked up a bar, studied it, and put it back.
Karim, who had followed him to the door, leaned against the frame. "This is so easy, man. Just take the Milka bar. It's the classic."
"Some of us are trying to be creative," Ryan said without looking up, finally selecting three different bars from three different brands and adding them to his basket.
"Okay, okay, Malin, I will leave you to your art," Karim conceded. "Just don't forget our match this weekend."
"Not available," Ryan stated, finally heading to the counter to pay.
"Don't be such a diva! We won't make you run a lot," Karim pleaded.
"Still no."
"Malin, don't make me bring Amir to your house."
That made Ryan stop and turn. "If that guy shows up at our door, my mom will report you both for invading private property. Look, I can't play. I'm going to visit my grandparents in Tizi. I'm not even here this weekend."
Karim's face fell for a second, then brightened. "Oh. Bummer. Anyway, have fun, man."
"Yeah, yeah," Ryan muttered, already walking away from the shop.
A short while later, Ryan placed the grocery bag on the kitchen counter. His mother looked up from her phone.
Ryan turned to her, his entire demeanor transformed. He took her hands in his.
"Beautiful lady," he began, his voice dripping with melodramatic flair. "I have worked hard for you. I have traveled across mountains and forests... and I have returned with the highest quality ingredients in the entire kingdom." He gestured grandly to the bag. "For such a heroic quest, a hero needs his reward, don't you think?"
His mother pulled her hands back and put them on her hips. "Like what?"
Ryan's eyes lit up. "I want the scraps," he declared. "All the leftover baklava. The ugly pieces, the burnt edges, the trimmings... all of it. That's my tax."
"And who told you I'm making baklava?"
Ryan gave her a look of pure disbelief. "For real, Mom? I know that ingredient list by heart. It's the baklava protocol."
She finally sighed in mock defeat. "Yeah, alright, sure. You can have the scraps."
"Deal," Ryan said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he pointed a finger at her. "And this stays between me and you. Dad gets jealous." He grabbed the grocery bag and headed for his room.
In his bedroom, Ryan tossed the plastic bag onto his desk and flipped open his laptop.
"Right. Priority one," he muttered, opening his streaming apps. "Time to download a small fortress of entertainment."
He knew the drill all too well. At his grandfather's house, the signal was legendary for being absolute shit. No internet. No calls. Just you and the mountains.
"Perfect," he muttered, queuing up a few mindless action movies, an epic series or two, and an epic Turkish series.
He opened YouTube next, a slow grin spreading across his face as he began queuing up video after video. "This," he said with satisfaction, "will make that stubborn old man see the light."
Satisfied, he turned to his wardrobe, pulling out a worn duffel bag and packing his clothes.
He zipped the bulging bag shut and gave it a critical look. "Mmm," he muttered. "Does it look like I'm moving there permanently?"
He hoisted the heavy bag onto his shoulder with a grunt. "Yeah, it does. Then it's perfect."
He walked out and leaned against the doorframe of his sister Leila's room. "Yo, make sure you don't take any white clothes," he said.
She held up a white t-shirt. "Why?"
Ryan smirked. "You already resemble a cow. Any more white and Grandma will mistake you for one of hers and let you sleep in the barn."
"Ugh, go away!" Leila said, throwing a sock at him.
Ryan simply shrugged, pulling a brand new chocolate bar from his pocket. "Mmm. Sure." He turned to leave.
"Wait, wait! Come inside, I'm serious!" she called after him.
Without breaking stride, Ryan tossed the new chocolate bar over his shoulder into her room. It bounced squarely off her forehead.
"Oops," he said, not even looking back. "Wasn't supposed to do that. But your forehead's so big it just landed there anyway."
The next morning, in the quiet, pale light of dawn, Ryan hauled his duffel bag towards the family car. His father was already there, arranging a cooler in the trunk.
"No matter how much I try," his father mused, his voice hushed in the morning stillness, "it always ends up being too much. The neighbors already asked me if we're moving."
Ryan gave his father's shoulder a condescending pat. "Oh, hero. You are returning in triumph, of course you need to take the spoils."
His father shook his head. "Don't talk like that. Your grandfather won't like it."
Ryan hoisted his bag into the trunk. "Relax. I'm the favorite grandson. I'll be alright."
His father closed the trunk. "Okay then, monsieur favorite grandson. Go call your mom. We need to go."
Ryan turned and saw his mother and sister already coming out the front door. He strode over, smoothly taking the bags from his mother's hands.
"Mom, you hurry up," he said, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper. "Dad was just complaining about how slow you are. Don't make him any more angry."
He dodged the half-hearted swipe his father aimed at his head.
Once everyone was settled inside the car, his mother fixed his father with a sharp glare.
"I didn't say anything!" his father protested, starting the engine.
"You'd better not have," she replied. "I was busy preparing all week."
Ryan leaned forward from the backseat. "See, Mom? He doesn't appreciate your hard work. It's a tragedy, really."
From beside him, Leila piped up. "Dad worked hard too! He loaded the whole car by himself!"
"Thank you, baby," their father said.
Ryan reached over and gave Leila a light, playful tap on the head. "Stupid teammate," he grumbled. He slumped back in his seat. "You ruined it. The live Tom and Jerry movie was just starting. Now our ride's gonna feel so much longer."
Oh well. Just the two of us now.
He pulled his MP3 player from his pocket, turning it over in his hand. "Alright, partner. They all say you can't teach an old horse new tricks... but I've got a great trust in you. The next three hours are your stage."
Tucking the earbuds in, he rested his forehead against the cool glass, the world outside melting into a stream of color and sound as they left the city behind.