Sunday afternoon sun was soft—no too-hot glare, just warm enough to make the mango tree leaves glow. Mom (Ann) wiped her hands on her apron and leaned in the doorway.
"Who wants a walk? The neighbor said there's a little path by the temple—goes past old mango groves."
Mia's head popped up from the couch, where she'd been gluing googly eyes to a new elephant craft. "Me! Me! Can we bring Lavender? She needs to stretch her legs!"
Dad (John) set down his golf magazine and groaned, but he was smiling. "Fine. But if she chases another squirrel, I'm not the one who has to get her back."
Lavender, who'd been napping on my manga stack, perked up at her name. She trotted over, tail high, and rubbed against Mia's ankle—her version of "let's go, hurry up."
We grabbed shoes and a water bottle, and Mia insisted on bringing her new elephant craft ("To show the squirrels!"). The path started at the end of our street, lined with tall grass that tickled my ankles.
Mia ran ahead, Lavender at her heels, and stopped every two steps to point at mangoes hanging from low branches. "Look! That one's almost yellow! Can we pick it tomorrow?"
Mom laughed. "Ask the owner first. We don't want to be mango thieves."
Dad nudged me. "Last week I saw a guy pick three mangoes from that tree. Said the owner lets neighbors have 'em if they share."
I grinned. "Good to know. Mia will be out here at dawn."
We walked for ten minutes, the path winding past a few small houses—some with porch swings, some with potted lotuses—until Mia suddenly froze.
"Where'd Lavender go?"
Her voice was tight, and I scanned the grass. No orange fur, no tiny paws rustling leaves. Then I heard a soft "mrow" from behind a hedge.
There she was—sitting in front of a small, weathered shed, tail flicking at the door. The shed was made of old wood, its paint peeling to bare brown, and the door hung crookedly, held shut by a rusted padlock.
"What's that?" Mia whispered, inching closer.
Dad stepped forward, squinting at the shed. "Must be the old storage shed for the property. Probably belongs to the people who used to live in our villa."
Lavender stood up, pawing at the door, and Mia knelt down to pet her. "What is it, girl? Smell something good?"
The shed smelled like dust and old wood, with a hint of something sweet—like dried mangoes. I leaned in, and through the crack in the door, I could see stacks of boxes, a wobbly wooden chair, and a rusted gardening cart.
"Can we look inside?" Mia asked, eyes wide. "What if there's old elephant toys? Or more mangoes?"
Mom hesitated, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It's not ours, Mia. We shouldn't snoop."
But Dad was already jiggling the padlock. "Looks like it's been here forever. The lock's rusted shut—probably no one uses it anymore. C'mon, just a quick peek. I'll keep an eye out for neighbors."
He pulled a small pocketknife from his jeans (the one he used to peel mangoes) and wedged it into the lock. There was a soft "click," and the door creaked open, sending a cloud of dust floating into the sun.
Mia sneezed—loud—and Lavender darted inside, her orange tail disappearing behind a stack of boxes.
"Lavender! Wait!" I called, stepping in after her.
The shed was smaller than it looked from outside. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with old tools: a bent rake, a chipped watering can, a pair of gardening gloves with holes in the fingers. A wicker basket in the corner was filled with dried leaves, and on the floor, a stack of faded cloths—some with floral patterns, one with tiny mangoes stitched into the fabric.
Mia tiptoed over, running her finger along the mango cloth. "This is pretty. Can we take it? Mom could use it for her herbs."
Mom shook her head, but she was smiling. "No, but it's nice to look at. Be careful—there might be spiders."
Lavender was pawing at a wooden box under the chair—small, about the size of my manga, with a faded lotus carved into the lid. My throat tightened.
It looked just like the ivory box in my desk. Not similar—just like it. The same graceful curve of the petals, the same circular center. A cold tingle shot down my spine.
I knelt down, my heart hammering against my ribs. Lavender stepped back, letting me pick up the box. It was lighter than the ivory one, made of soft wood, and the lotus carving was worn smooth—like someone had touched it a thousand times.
"Look," I said, my voice coming out tighter than I meant it to. "It has a lotus. Exactly like my box."
Dad leaned over, squinting. "Huh. Weird. Maybe the old owner liked lotuses. Or grew 'em in the yard." His tone was light, but I saw the quick, questioning glance he shot Mom.
Mom's smile had tightened slightly at the edges. She didn't reach for the box, just studied it from a step away. "It's a common motif," she said, her voice a little too even. But her eyes held a flicker of something unreadable. Curiosity? Or a sliver of worry?
Mia crowded close, trying to peek inside. "Can we open it? What if there's treasure? Or a map to more mangoes?"
Open it. The urge was a physical pull. My fingers found the seam of the lid. But then I looked at Mia's excited, unguarded face, and at my parents' carefully neutral expressions. This didn't feel like a treasure hunt anymore. It felt like prying open a secret I wasn't sure we were ready for. The ivory box in my desk had brought mystery and wonder, but also a whisper of danger. What if this one held something worse?
"Not now," I said, the decision settling heavily in my stomach. I made a show of brushing dust off the lid, as if that was the reason. "It feels… old. We might break it. And it's not ours." I was parroting Mom's earlier words, but they now felt like a necessary shield.
Before Mia could protest, Lavender suddenly hissed—loud, sharp—and darted behind my legs. I froze. Something rustled in the back of the shed, near a stack of old newspapers.
"Mouse?" Mom whispered, grabbing Mia's hand, the moment broken.
Dad grabbed the rake from the shelf, grinning. "Don't worry—this old thing's good for more than just leaves. C'mon, little guy—show yourself."
He tapped the rake against the floor, and a small brown mouse scurried out, darting under the door. Lavender yowled and chased after it, but it was gone in a flash.
Mia laughed, clutching her stomach. "Lavender's such a loser! She couldn't even catch a mouse!"
Lavender trotted back, tail drooping, and rubbed against my leg like she was apologizing. I scratched her ears. "It's okay. Mice are fast."
As everyone's attention shifted, I carefully slid the wooden box back into the shadow under the chair. I made sure it was positioned exactly as we'd found it. I wasn't leaving it behind; I was buying time. Time to think, and to come back without an audience.
Mom brushed dust off her shirt, her demeanor shifting back to practical. "Alright, explorers—time to go. The sun's starting to set, and I promised Mia mango smoothies for dinner."
Mia cheered, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the door. "Smoothies! With extra mango chunks! Can we add coconut ice cream?"
Dad closed the shed door, wiggling the padlock back into place. "Only if you promise not to beg for seconds before you finish your first."
We walked back along the path, Mia chattering about the shed and the mouse. I was quiet, the image of the lotus box burned behind my eyes. As we walked, I saw Mom loop her arm through Dad's and lean in close, her voice too low for Mia and me to hear. He nodded once, a short, sober gesture. They had noticed. And they were talking about it.
Lavender trotted beside us, her tail back to high, like she'd forgotten about the mouse already.
I glanced over my shoulder at the path—toward the shed. The wooden box with the lotus carving sat under that chair, quiet and old. And somewhere in my pocket, the ivory box felt warm, like it was humming, a silent answer to its twin in the dark.
"Hey," I said to Mia, as we turned onto our street. "Tomorrow after school—wanna come back to the shed? We can bring flashlights. See if there's anything else cool."
Mia's eyes lit up. "Yes! And we can bring Tao and Aom! They'll love it—Tao can look for old manga, Aom can look for lotus stuff!"
Dad laughed, putting an arm around my shoulders. "You kids and your adventures. Just don't go digging up the yard again—your mom still hasn't forgiven Lavender for the ivory box."
Mom rolled her eyes, but her smile was back, warm and easy. "I forgave her. I just haven't forgiven you for letting her dig in the first place."
Lavender meowed, like she was agreeing.
Back home, Mom pulled out the blender, and Mia dumped a handful of mango chunks into it. I sat on the counter, watching, and thought about the shed—the old tools, the mango cloth, the wooden lotus box.
It was just a cluttered storage shed. But something about it felt like a puzzle piece—another part of the secret the villa was keeping, and now my parents seemed to be part of that secret, too.
Mia handed me a smoothie, topped with a mango slice. "Drink up! Tomorrow we're gonna be explorers!"
I took a sip—sweet, cold, perfect—and nodded. Tomorrow we'd go back. And maybe, just maybe, we'd find another clue.
Outside, the sun dipped below the mountains, painting the sky orange. The mango tree swayed, and somewhere far away, a bell rang once—soft, like a reminder.
The shed was just the start.