Hey everyone, sorry for not posting for like two days. The flu ran me straight through the ground—couldn't even sit up from the fever. Feeling a bit more human now, so here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy it!
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The world outside the window was a bleached-out painting. Dusty olive trees, pale soil, a washed-out sky—all blurred into a single, monotonous streak of faded color. Ryan's gaze was unfocused, his head a steady weight against the cool glass.
Then—a shock of blue.
His eyes snapped to it, the blur sharpening instantly. The greens of the trees deepened. The brown earth grew rich and distinct.
A faded sign, bolted to a simple metal post, slid past:
Le Wilaya de Tizi Ouzou vous souhaite la bienvenue.
A slow, familiar smirk tugged at Ryan's lips.
The new mayor sure is working extra hard. Can't even afford a new sign. But come on, a wipe with olive oil would've had it shining in no time. Bet he isn't even Kabyle.
He pulled one earbud out, the tinny beat of his music a brief intrusion. He reached forward and tapped his mother's shoulder.
"Mom. We're almost there."
His mother's eyes fluttered open instantly. "I wasn't sleeping," she said, straightening up. "Just resting my eyes."
Ryan just shrugged and turned his attention to his sister, Leila. She was in a deep sleep, head lolled against the window, a thin line of drool tracing a path from her mouth to her chin.
He stared, utterly disgusted. Without ceremony, he reached over and pushed the side of her face firmly against the cool glass.
Leila jolted awake with a start. "Huh? What? Ouch, Ryan! My head!"
"I helped you wipe your drool," Ryan stated flatly, wiping his hand on his jeans. He then eyed the tangled mess of her hair. "The village birds are gonna start a property war over that." He shrugged. "I wanna watch, not gonna lie. Thank you in advance for the entertainment."
He held up his hand for a high-five.
Leila completely ignored his hand, her eyes wide with horror. She immediately started patting down her hair, her gaze fixed on her faint reflection in the car window as she desperately dug through her bag for a hair tie.
After a moment of frantic fixing, she paused and looked at him. "Surprisingly... you can be very thoughtful sometimes."
Ryan just stared ahead, a smirk playing on his lips. Around here, once you have a characteristic, the nicknames get creative real fast. One bad hair day and you're part of the haystack for life.
He glanced over at Leila, who had finally managed to smooth her hair into something presentable.
"Mmm," he said, tilting his head in mock consideration. "You know, I think the crazy hair actually suited you better." He leaned toward her, hands raised as if to mess it up again. "Big bro can always help you get the look back."
Leila shrieked and swatted his hands away. "Get away from me!"
Ryan leaned back with a sigh. "Ungrateful brat."
The crunch of the car's tires shifting from asphalt to gravel was the first sign. Then, the engine cut, and a profound silence descended, broken only by the whisper of the wind through a million pine needles.
Ryan pushed the car door open and the world rushed in.
The first thing he noticed was the coolness. The oppressive, dusty heat of the journey had been utterly defeated, unable to penetrate the deep shade of the forest that cradled the house. The air was cool and sharp in his lungs, carrying the clean scent of pine, damp earth, and the faint, sweet perfume of wildflowers.
Before them stood the house, a two-story structure of whitewashed stone with a terracotta tile roof, weathered but proud. It was nestled in a clearing, surrounded by a fortress of rolling, forested hills.
The front door creaked open. An old woman with skin like porcelain and bright pink cheeks stood there, wrapped in a traditional, vibrantly colored dress. Her eyes lit up.
"Oooh! It's Ahmed!" she called out, beaming at Ryan's father.
In a flash, Ryan was across the yard. He swept past his dad, took his grandmother's face gently in his hands, and kissed her on both cheeks, then squarely on the forehead.
"Beauty," he declared, his voice full of mock offense. "Rule number one: your eyes should always land on the most handsome guy around." He looked around pointedly, then back at her. "That's obviously me. How can you ignore me for him?"
"Oh, my baby!" she laughed. "You've grown up now! You are taller than me!"
"Of course I am," Ryan said, a grin finally breaking through his dramatic act. "I can even carry you around now. Wanna try?"
Before she could protest, he smoothly scooped her up into his arms.
"Ryan! Let me greet them first!"
But he was already turning, marching straight for the open front door. "See? You still haven't learned. Why put your attention on something so unimportant when I am right here?"
He carried her directly into the cool, tiled kitchen and set her down gently. "Don't tell Mom, I don't want to upset her," he whispered, his expression turning to pure, mock despair, "but I'm miserable without you. No other food tastes as good as yours. Why don't you put me out of my misery and just come live with us?"
A sudden, sharp thwack on his shoulder made him jump. He turned to find his grandfather, standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning on his walking stick.
"Go get your own wife to cook for you," the old man grumbled, though a fierce spark of affection lit his eyes. "Leave mine alone."
Ryan just smirked. "She loves me more and you know it." He strode over and planted a firm kiss on his wrinkled forehead. "So? Did you miss your favorite grandson?"
The old man grumbled, trying to hide his smile. "Where is your father?"
"Getting the baggage. He'll be here any minute," Ryan said, already turning to the pots simmering on the stove. He lifted a lid and a cloud of fragrant steam billowed out. "You made my chicken!" he called out. "I knew our feelings were mutual."
Just then, the rest of the family trudged in. His father spotted him by the stove. "You! You left us alone to haul all of that!"
Ryan immediately ducked behind his grandmother. "Hmph! Unlike you noobs, I have a hawk eye. I recognize the most valuable thing and move it inside first."
His grandmother laughed. "Oh, this sweet tongue of yours!"
"He's only sweet to you!" Leila chimed in, dropping a heavy bag.
Ryan looked at his sister. "See? Love can make people poets. In your case, my love for you is non-existent."
His mother looked around at the crowded kitchen. "Why are we all standing in the kitchen?"
His father sighed, gesturing at Ryan. "It's that clown. What do you expect?"
They eventually moved to the cozy living room. Ryan slid down to sit on the floor, leaning back and resting his head against his grandmother's knees. She automatically began gently running her fingers through his hair.
As the soft murmur of family conversation filled the room, his grandmother looked down at him. "So, my boy, how is school?"
Ryan closed his eyes, a contented smirk on his face. "I got the highest grades in the school. They took my photo and put it on a sign at the door. My full name: Ryan Ziri. In grand letters."
He opened one eye to peer up at her. "They asked how I achieved that. I told them the truth, of course. I said I got my appearance from my gorgeous grandma... and my brilliant brain from Grandpa."
From his armchair, Baba grunted. He looked at his son for confirmation. When Ahmed nodded, the old man turned back, a fierce, quiet pride in his eyes. "They should just look at the name Ziri. That is all they need to know. Your uncle and your father... they didn't study much. But our genes are still strong."
Ryan nodded sagely from his spot on the floor. "True," he murmured, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Look at me. I'm perfect."
"Mom, Dad, please," Ryan's father interjected, throwing his hands up in mock despair. "He is unruly as he is. Please, I'm begging you, stop spoiling him more."
Ryan looked at his father with pure,
unadulterated contempt, then his eyes slid back to his grandfather.
"By the way, Grandpa," he said, his tone shifting to casual. "Back home, an old neighbor passed. Her kids all live abroad. After the funeral, they threw almost everything out."
He paused,
"A lot of kids were going through them, and I kinda found some nice things, not gonna lie." He got up and went to his bag, returning with a bundle wrapped in an old t-shirt. He carefully unwrapped it to reveal two curved daggers. "These are for you. I fought for them tooth and nail—a lot of people wanted them."
He puffed out his chest slightly, boasting. "But once I saw them, I knew they were made for you." He met his grandfather's gaze. "To me, they looked legit. Don't know about you."
His grandfather's eyes widened. "Smart boy," he breathed, taking the daggers and examining them closely, his hands trembling slightly.
Ryan then turned to his grandmother, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. "He can have those old things," he said, nodding toward his grandfather, his sarcastic tone returning but softened with affection. "But for you..." He opened the box to reveal a pair of exquisite silver earrings with deep green gems that shimmered in the light. "I sold all the rest of the stuff and bought this for you. This will look spectacular on you. They'll bring out all the green in your eyes."
As Ryan walked back to his spot on the floor, he caught his father's eye. "There are levels to this," he said, winking before sliding down beside his mother and leaning his head back against her shoulder.
"You did such a good job, boy," his grandfather said, still examining the daggers with reverence. "This looks like a dagger from 1900 or before. I love it."
"Told you," Ryan said, tapping a finger beside his eye. "Hawk eye. Now you can leave all your inheritance to me without a worry."
His grandfather threw his head back and laughed heartily. "You sure look reliable!"
His grandmother finally looked up from the earrings, her expression a mix of awe and gentle scolding. "These are exquisite. But why didn't you leave the money to yourself? You should have bought clothes!"
Ryan just shrugged, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Nah. I think I spent it just right."
His grandmother looked over at his mother, a plea for backup in her eyes. "Fatima, you have to teach him how to—
His mother simply held up her own wrist, revealing a delicate silver bracelet that had clearly been a previous gift. She shook her head with a fond smile. "His ego is through the roof. Let him be."
Ryan beamed, utterly triumphant. "What can I say? Spending money on beautiful women never gets old."
The chatter of laughter filled the house—the clink of teacups, the warmth of voices, the faint smell of mint and pine wood smoke. Ryan leaned his head back again, eyes half-closed, the sound of his family washing over him. For the first time in a long while, it smelled—and felt—like home