The morning sun glinted off the dusty car, its suspension sitting just a little lower than when they'd arrived. Suitcases were wedged into every conceivable space, a bright blue shirt sleeve trapped in the seal of the trunk door. Ahmed leaned his full weight against it until it clicked shut with a solid, final thump. Beside him, Leila slapped the dust from her palms, her job as chief luggage-organizer complete.
By the front door, the rest of the family had gathered for the final goodbye.
"Thank you for everything," Ryan's mother said, her voice thick with a warmth that spoke of genuine gratitude. She reached out, squeezing her mother-in-law's hand. "For the meals, the noise... for all of it."
Grandma waved a dismissive hand. "Don't say such a thing! The house has never been more lively." Her eyes glistened, and her voice softened. "It will feel so empty once you leave."
"Yeah, I know," Ryan's mom sighed, a practical note returning to her voice. "But we need to go back. The children's school starts in a week. We need to get their things ready."
"Everything is ready!" Leila called out, her voice cutting through the sentimental atmosphere. "Dad is waiting!"
Ryan, who had been leaning with tragic grandeur against the doorframe, let out a soft, pained groan. "Leila," he called, his voice a masterpiece of strained suffering. "Come here. Help me walk to the car."
From beside him, Baba let out a low, unmistakable snicker. Ryan's mother rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder she could still see.
"Ryan," she said, her tone flat and unamused. "It's been three days. Drop the act already."
"The director didn't say 'cut' yet," Ryan retorted, placing a hand over his heart as if wounded by her disbelief. He then glanced toward his father, who was watching the scene with a darkening expression. "Besides," Ryan added, "being forced to play for some conservative caps... I'm bound to pick up a knock. It's a workplace hazard."
Grandma immediately swooped in, her face etched with concern. She put her work-roughened hands on his cheeks. "My boy," she fretted. "Did the massage with the olive oil not help?"
Ryan's entire demeanor softened into one of pitiful gratitude. "Oh, it did help" he cooed. "Your hands were like angels on my pain. But it's still not 100%. It hurts... sometimes..." He trailed off, letting a slight wince twist his features for good measure.
"Okay, okay, don't you put your weight on it," she insisted. "Here, let me help you walk."
From the driver's side of the car, Ahmed slammed his hand on the roof. "Where did he get this shamelessness from?!" he demanded, looking at his wife as if she held the genetic key to this mystery.
Ryan's mother simply shrugged, a faint smile playing on her lips. "What I know is, it's not from my side."
With a sound of pure, exasperated defeat, Ahmed marched over, his eyes glaring daggers at his son. "Let me help him," he grumbled, the offer sounding more like a threat.
Seeing the storm approaching in his father's eyes, Ryan suddenly straightened up. "No, it's fine! I'm already there," he said, his hobble becoming a slightly hurried shuffle towards the car door his grandma had kindly opened.
"Sit here, my love," she instructed. "I will go bring a pillow to put under your foot for support."
Ryan smiled sweetly at her, then opened his arms for a hug. "Don't miss me too much," he said, pulling her in and kissing her forehead. "And don't forget to charge your phone. I'll call you daily, okay?"
From inside the car, Leila let out a loud, dramatic groan. "Oh, the favoritism."
Grandma hurried to the other side and planted a firm kiss on Leila's cheek through the open window. "Here, my dear."
"Shush, Leila. Go away," Ryan said, settling into his seat with a satisfied sigh.
Leila turned in her seat to glare at him. "For your information, she is my grandma too!"
Ryan buckled his seatbelt, a look of final, sarcastic triumph on his face. "It doesn't matter," he declared. "Since the day I was born, I'm her one and only."
As Ahmed started the engine, Baba stepped forward. "Drive safely," he said, his voice firm but warm. He gave Grandma's shoulder a comforting pat as she dabbed at her eyes.
Then his gaze landed on Ryan through the open window. A knowing smirk played on his lips. "We will come in two weeks," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes dropped pointedly to Ryan's "injured" leg. "And I will take you to Karim personally..."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, deliberate murmur that sent a chill down Ryan's spine.
"...even if I have to push you there in a wheelchair."
Note to self, Ryan thought as the car began to pull away, next time, film it. The delivery, the voice, the drama... acting teachers would weep.
The ride home was quiet, a heavy blanket of unspoken thoughts. The landscape shifted from the dry, open vistas of the village to the clustered buildings of the city.
When Ahmed finally pulled the car to a stop in front of their own home, it was with a sigh of relief. The engine cut out, leaving a sudden silence.
The front door swung open with a familiar creak. Before anyone could even grab a bag, Ryan's mother was moving with a quiet, determined efficiency. She breezed past them all, heading straight for the living room.
"Let some air in," she murmured, more to the house itself than to them. She pushed open the windows that had been sealed shut for weeks, a soft breeze stirring the still, dusty air. Her eyes scanned the floor. "And this needs a good mopping."
"Yeah, you do that," Ahmed said, already turning toward the door. "Let me go get us some food."
She nodded, her attention shifting to Ryan and Leila. "You two, take your bags to your rooms."
Ryan dragged his bag into his room and dumped it on the bed. He shoved it halfway underneath with his foot. "You," he told the bag, "are Future Ryan's problem."
He walked out lazily, went to the fridge, and emerged with a small, familiar container clutched protectively in his hands. Back in his room, he sat on the edge of his bed and popped the lid open. A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face.
"Happy to see you, beautiful," he whispered to the stack of perfect, honey-soaked baklava nestled inside.
He took a bite, chewing through the chilled, firm pastry. "A little cold," he grumbled to himself. "Still fucking fantastic, though."
"Ryan! Come eat!" his mother's voice called from the living room.
He quickly hid the container and walked out to find a mega pizza box dominating the floor. He looked at his father. "That was fast."
As they all sat around the box, Leila took a cheesy slice and sighed happily. "I missed this so much."
"You traitor," Ryan said, shaking his head in mock disgust. "Just a couple hours and you forget Grandma's cooking already?"
"But we didn't have pizza there!" she fired back.
Ryan took a large bite. "Tikerbabin stamp on pizza," he declared with his mouth full.
As they bickered, their mother watched, shaking her head. Ahmed let out a long, weary sigh. "Why did I even think there could be some peace?"
"If we left them at your parent's house, maybe..." his wife mused quietly, though a small smile betrayed her.
Ryan, pizza slice still hovering near his mouth, nodded sagely. "Yeah," he agreed through a mouthful of cheese. "We should've left her."
"If anyone was getting left, it was going to be you," his father retorted without missing a beat.
"Or me. Both works," Ryan shrugged, completely unbothered.
"You would have given your grandfather a heart attack," Ahmed shot back, though there was no real heat in his words.
Ryan finally swallowed his bite. "He puts on a tough front, but he's a softie. Bet you a hundred he's already missing me right now."
From across the pizza box, Leila snorted. "The delusion."
" No one more delusional than you, with that weight, still eating like this," Ryan fired back, gesturing with his crust at her slice. "Good luck finding any clothes for school that fit."
"I didn't put on any weight!" Leila shot back, her voice rising in indignation.
Ryan pushed up from the floor. "I'm gonna take a bath." Walking past Leila, he tossed over his shoulder, "Looking in the mirror's free. Maybe try it sometime."
_________________________________________
Steam followed him out of the bathroom, a towel slung over his damp head. "Fresh as a lemon," he announced to nobody in particular.
In his room, the towel went flying into a corner. He collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Summer vacation's over already."
Eyes closed, he grimaced at the thought. "6 AM... Haven't seen you in a while. Can't say I missed you."
His eyes drifted open, landing on the football gathering dust in the corner of his room. "Speaking of annoying things," he muttered. "Why are you always making a comeback in my life? I thought we had a treaty."
The football, unsurprisingly, didn't respond.
"It was simple," Ryan continued, talking to the inanimate object as if it were a stubborn business partner. "You stay in your corner, I stay in mine. The sleep world is yours, the waking world is mine. A perfect merger."
He sat up slightly, a business analyst dissecting a failing company. "But now you're trying to expand. Hostile takeover. Like a startup that got a sudden cash injection and forgot its place."
He threw his hands up in the air. "You know what? At this point, go fuck yourself."
The negative emotions were already simmering under his skin. He rolled his shoulders, popping a joint, and mumbled to the empty room, "Well, for those poor souls tonight... wish you all the luck."
A tired smirk touched his lips. "God knows you'll need it."