In the middle of Kalvot City, there was an old villa. It used to have a name once, but now, no one remembers it. Or maybe they do—but only in the most negative way. The villa stood on a large piece of land—about a thousand square meters. It was old now, quiet and worn out, but you could still feel it had seen better days. It was a double-story house, built in the old way. Big rooms, tall ceilings, and a long veranda that went around most of the house. The walls were cracked, and in some places, the red brick showed through.
There were two yards. The front yard was dry and hot, with a patch of dead grass and a mango tree that hadn't given fruit in years. The backyard was calmer. There used to be a small garden there. Now only a few flowers were left—some roses, some hibiscus. They still bloomed, even if the rest of the place had stopped trying. On the side, there was an old garage. There were two cars and a bike parked.
The family was middle-class, or at least that's how they saw themselves. They had enough—two cars, a bike, everything they needed. They just didn't care much about fixing the house. Maybe because no one really talked about it. Or maybe because it held too many memories.
It was a hot summer evening. The kind where the heat sticks to your skin, and the streets smell like dust and cooked stone. The sun had just started to go down, but the air still burned.
In one of the rooms, Ulmea sat on the sofa with her cousin, Liora. They were sitting together, eating and chatting.
"So he was a big shot, huh?" said Ulmea, surprised. She knew his name, but not his tale.
Liora replied casually, "You didn't know?"
"Know what?" she asked.
"Our grandfather. Sabir Ali. He used to own half of this city. I also heard he was a big deal."
She froze. The name—Sabir Ali—wasn't new. She had heard it during tea, muttered under breath, printed in fading ink on deeds and envelopes. But never like that. Never with weight.
She turned slowly to face her cousin, the brush now limp in her hand.
"He what?"
"He built everything. Houses. Shops. Businesses. Properties. He was… something else. How I wish he was still alive… But unfortunately, he left long ago. He was a respectable man," Liora said with sorrow.
Ulmea stayed silent for a moment, letting the name settle in her mind. The heat outside pressed against the windows, but inside, time seemed to slow.
"But sis, I always thought he was just a tale," Ulmea finally said, her voice soft. "Something people made up to sound important."
Liora shook her head. "No, it's true. I've seen him. He passed away twenty years ago. I was thirteen at the time. He was proud, but also strict. People respected him... and feared him, maybe."
"Why does it feel like we don't know much about him?" she asked, mostly to herself.
Liora shrugged. "Because after he died, everything changed. People forgot—or wanted to forget. Some things were hidden. Some things sold off. It's complicated."
Ulmea whispered, "I want to know everything about him. Why is he only a tale now?"
Liora smiled, a little sad but hopeful. "Me too. I know a lot… I just don't know what to do with it."
"Wait," Ulmea whispered, eyes wide. "This villa… was it his?"
Liora looked at her, a little surprised. "You didn't know?"
Ulmea sat back slowly, the old sofa creaking beneath her. Her eyes moved across the room—the high ceiling with faint water stains, the carved wooden shelves filled with books no one read, the faded family photo still hanging crooked above the fireplace.
"I grew up here," she said, almost to herself. "No one ever told me it belonged to him."
"It did," Liora said, gently. "This was his home. His favorite place. He built it with his own hands—or at least, that's what my father used to say. Said he chose this spot because it sat right in the heart of the city, where he could watch everything he built grow around him."
Ulmea blinked. The room suddenly felt different. Heavier. Warmer, too. Like the walls had been listening all this time.
"But… why didn't anyone tell me?"
Liora sighed. "Because after he died, things went bad. Arguments. Property fights. Secrets. Everyone wanted their share, but no one wanted the story. This villa was supposed to be sold, but somehow it got passed down to everyone. I don't think even your dad knows the full story. Maybe no one does."
Ulmea stood up and walked slowly to the window. She placed her hand on the glass. Outside, the street looked the same—dusty, glowing gold in the late sun—but now it felt like a map, and she had just found the key.
"I've been living in his house. Sleeping in his rooms. Breathing his air."
Liora smiled faintly. "I thought you knew. You always acted like this place was yours."
"It isn't," Ulmea said quietly. "It's his. And I think… I think I need to know why they wanted to forget him."
Silence fell for a moment. Only the sound of a fan humming above, and the soft clinking of their plates settling into stillness.
Then Ulmea said, almost like a promise to herself, "I'll find out everything. Whatever it takes."
Ulmea turned back from the window, her voice steadier now."Tell me everything you know, Liora. About him. About how things were… before he died."
Liora leaned back on the sofa, her eyes drifting to a place far behind the present."It was different back then. Everything was fuller. He didn't just live here—he filled this place. Every corner. Every plate. Every moment."
She smiled faintly. "He brought food every evening. Not just for us, for the whole house. Bags of fruit, vegetables, sweets, meats. You didn't need to ask—he just knew what everyone liked. He always came back with his arms full, as if he had enough to feed the whole city."
Ulmea listened quietly, her fingers now resting on the wooden arm of the chair, worn smooth by time.
"There was a cat too," Liora said softly.
"She was white," Liora said, eyes narrowing like she could still see her. "Not pure white—more like the color of old snow. She only ate what he gave her. Nothing else. If anyone else offered food, she'd turn her face. She waited for him. Always. She'd sit beside his bowl, and when he was done, she'd drink the leftover milk. She never touched a drop before."
Ulmea's brows drew together, caught between wonder and sorrow.
"She lived in his room," Liora went on. "Followed him like a shadow. When he was writing, counting money, talking business—she would jump onto the desk and paw his hand, wanting him to stop and notice her. And he always did. He used to say, 'Even queens get jealous, but my cat gets there first.'"
She laughed a little, wiping the corner of her eye.
"And when he died…" Her voice slowed. "She just stopped. Stopped eating. Stopped meowing. She wouldn't take anything from anyone. Not even water. She lay on his prayer mat. Curled up like she was waiting."
"She died?" Ulmea asked, softly.
Liora nodded. "A few days later. Quietly. No sound. Just gone. Like her world ended with him."
Ulmea didn't speak. The room had grown so still, she could hear the ticking of the wall clock—an old one, probably his.
"This place isn't just his," she said. "It's full of ghosts, Liora. Not scary ones. But the kind that make you want to sit very still, and listen."
Liora nodded. "It remembers him, Ulmea. Maybe now it's your turn to remember too."
But before they could continue, a soft and small voice came from outside.
"Ulmea? Liora? You guys can come down now. Dinner's ready!"
It was Ulmea's little sister, Flossy.
Ulmea looked at Liora, the weight of their talk still hanging in the air like dust that hadn't settled.
"We'll be right there," Liora said gently.
Ulmea and liora walked out of the room. The hallway was quiet and a little dark, with only some lights on.The walls were old and pale, and the paint was chipped in places. Family pictures hung on the walls—some a little tilted, some too faded to tell who was in them.
They passed the sitting room. The curtains were plain and light grey, moving slowly with the fan's breeze. A flat-screen TV was fixed to the wall, and a small speaker sat under it. The sofas were new—soft and dark, with a few cushions in blue and cream. A glass table stood in the middle, clear and clean. A phone charger hung from a plug, and someone had left a magazine open on the couch.
The house was old, but this room felt a little newer—like someone had tried to keep up with time.
As they walked closer to the dining room, the smell of food filled the air. The smell of delicious food made their stomach growl. Even though Ulmea's mind was still busy with everything she had just heard.
The light in the dining room was warm and a little dim. The table was already set—plates stacked, water jug filled, and dishes covered. It felt calm, like a moment waiting to start.
As they stepped into dining room. They greeted everyone before sitting.
Liora's parents were already there—her father sitting at the head of the table; he was the oldest brother while Ulmea's father was the youngest one, her mother busy uncovering the dishes. Her two older brothers sat beside each other, chatting quietly. Her sister's chair was empty; she was married now and lived abroad, but her photo hung in the hallway just outside the room.
Ulmea's parents were there too. Her mother smiled at them warmly, while her father nodded, already pouring himself some water. Ulmea's little sister, 9 years old, was trying to sneak a bite before everyone sat down. Her younger brother, only 8, had his elbows on the table, looking annoyed at being made to wait.
Everyone had their place at the table. The plates clinked gently as people sat. Liora pulled out a chair for Ulmea, and they both sat down together.
The smell of warm food filled the room— rice, curry, and something spicy that made Ulmea's mouth water. But her mind still full. She kept glancing at the faces around the table, wondering how many of them knew the full story about her grandfather… and why no one had ever told her.
Liora caught her eye and gave her a small, knowing smile.
Dinner had started, but something deeper had also begun. The sound of spoons scraping against plates and water being poured filled the room.
Liora's older brother leaned back and sighed, "Mom, the chicken curry tastes just like it used to. You didn't forget the recipe after all."
She smiled. "How could I forget? Your father still complains if I change even one thing."
Everyone laughed.
Ulmea's little sister tried to sneak a second helping before finishing her first. Their mother raised an eyebrow. "Eat what's already on your plate first."
"But I'm really hungry today!" the girl said, chewing quickly.
"Must be all the running around you did," her father replied. "You didn't even stop once to sit down."
Ulmea gave a soft laugh but stayed quiet. Her mind was still on the villa… on Sabir Ali.
She looked up suddenly. "Uncle," she said, turning to Liora's father, "Did Grandfather ever have… like, a big office or something here?"
The table went a little quiet—not awkward, but thoughtful.
Her uncle wiped his hands and nodded. "Yes, he had a whole study. It used to be right next to the back stairs. Full of books, papers, even a safe."
"Does it still exist?" she asked.
"Sort of," Liora's older brother chimed in. "Most of the furniture's gone, but the room is still there. It's mostly used for storage now."
"Hm." Ulmea nodded, filing it away.
Liora passed her some rice, nudging her gently. "Eat. You'll need energy if you plan to start digging through old rooms."
That made Ulmea smile.
Ulmea ate quietly as everyone talked around the table. The warm food and voices made the old villa feel less empty—like it was coming back to life.
But inside, Ulmea had many questions. About Sabir Ali, the villa, and the things no one had told her yet.
After dinner, when the room got quiet and people started cleaning up, Ulmea stood by the window. Outside, the city was calm, lit by soft streetlights.
She whispered to herself, "I want to know everything. I have to find out."
The night was full of secrets, waiting for her.
And this was just the beginning.