Our Temporary Home

I find myself in an unfamiliar house, standing next to my Uncle Henry. Outside the window, people in yellow vests are unloading cardboard boxes from a truck and carrying them into the house.

'What's going on?' I ask myself, scrutinizing their every move. 'What's in those boxes?'

My uncle doesn't say anything. He watches quietly, almost contemplatively.

Finally, all the boxes are inside. One of the men in yellow vests approaches my uncle and starts speaking in a language I don't understand. Uncle Henry listens, nods, and then signs a piece of paper the man hands him.

The man looks down at both of us, his eyes emotionless but somehow piercing. He nods to my uncle, and then they leave, driving away in the truck they came in.

I look around the house. It's old, filled only with essential furniture, as if it's been uninhabited for years.

"What just happened?" I ask my uncle, still puzzled.

He smiles enigmatically, "You'll understand soon, Amar. For now, let's get these boxes unpacked."

We turn our attention to the boxes. I help my uncle unpack, still curious about their contents and our situation.

As we open the boxes, I find various kitchen utensils: high-quality stainless-steel pots, sharp chef's knives, and heavy-duty cutting boards. I'm impressed by the quality.

Seeing my reaction, Uncle Henry smiles. "Good tools are essential," he says, clearly pleased.

"We just need some good clothes and a shower now," I say, glancing at both my uncle's and my own worn-out attire.

Uncle Henry grins, "I'll go grab a shower first, it's been quite a while."

While he's in the shower, I explore the house, examining every corner and piece of furniture, including the old wardrobe by the door. Aside from dust and a few bugs, nothing was out of the ordinary.

The house is small, with just two rooms: one room serves as a living area with a couch, wardrobe, and kitchen, and the other is a bathroom. Looks like we'll be spending the night on the couch.

I sit down on the old couch and start to ponder. 'What language were those men speaking? And where exactly are we?' My thoughts race. I wait for my uncle to finish his shower, hoping he'll shed light on our situation.

Gradually, my eyes grow heavy, and I drift off to sleep on the old couch.

In my dream, I see my home village ablaze. My mother is trying to get me out of the village, her face filled with desperation. My father is somewhere behind us, fighting to keep something—or someone—at bay.

Suddenly, something grabs my mother from the side, severing her arm in the process. Just before she's completely taken, she throws me away with her remaining strength, propelling me to safety.

I wake up, gasping for air, and take deep breaths to calm my racing heart.

I've never been able to identify who or what was responsible for destroying my village and attacking my parents. Shortly after my mother threw me to safety, I tried to run back to help her, but Uncle Henry found me and stopped me.

He then took me with his own two children, and ran away, leaving behind our home.

My uncle emerges from the bathroom. "Your turn."

As I head toward the bathroom, he adds with a knowing look, "Cool your head, Amar."

After showering, I come out to find Uncle Henry bustling around in the kitchen. "Found some flour and potatoes," he says enthusiastically, "I'm going to whip up something for us to eat."

Curious and still a bit uneasy, I retake my seat on the couch. "So, where exactly are we? And what language were those men speaking?"

Uncle Henry pauses, wiping his hands on a towel. "We're in Licht, a major city in Greiß," he explains. "And the language those men were speaking? That's Gries. Don't worry, I'll teach you the basics in the next few days."

"What's going to happen to us?" I ask, my voice tinged with apprehension.

Turning the stove on, Uncle Henry looks at me, his expression serious. "I've signed an agreement. We can stay here for a year, but there are rules. No work, no school."

"We do get a small stipend, though," he adds. "100 zenos a month for basic supplies and care. After a year, the government decides what happens next."

His words linger, filling the room with both clarity and uncertainty.

So they use the same currency here. That's barely enough for one person, let alone two. But complaining won't likely help. Money could simplify our future but with no work allowed, our hands are tied in that regard.

"What's the plan?" I ask, looking for some hint of direction.

Uncle Henry grins, a scheming look crossing his face. "We'll get money the usual way."

But then he admits with a sigh, his expression changing. "I don't know much about this city; First, we need to settle in and get to know our surroundings better."

"Did you already comb through the apartment?" Uncle Henry asks.

I nod. "Yeah, I didn't find anything out of the ordinary."

"At least that's a start," he remarks with a happy look.

"Let's eat," Uncle Henry divides some fried flour he has prepared with cooked potatoes onto two plates. He then hands me one of them.

"Tastes better than it looks," he comments.

I'm just grateful to have food, so I savor each bite.

"Oh, by the way, you'll be turning 14 the day after tomorrow," my uncle says, pointing at me with his spoon.

"You know what date it is?"

"Your uncle knows a few things," he replies, looking proud.

"But aren't I turning 13?"

"You know what, age isn't important. I don't even know my own exact age Hahaha…"

He avoids eye contact and starts eating his food more quickly.

"You're a year younger than my dad. He was 42 when we were still in the village," I reply after a few moments, looking down at my plate.

My uncle remains silent, his face unreadable. The weight of unspoken memories hangs heavy between us as we continue to eat.

After some moments, he finally breaks the silence. "You were a year older than Sara, so you'll be turning 15 the day after tomorrow. And I'll be hitting 50 soon."

"Time really flies by… Hahaha…," his laugh tinged with sadness.

I silently look at him.

"Since you've brought the mood down, you're in charge of cleaning the dishes," he teases.

"I would've done it anyway," I reply with a brief laugh.

After dinner, my uncle taught me some basic Gries so I could at least introduce myself. He told me he had studied in Greiß for a few years before coming to our village. By the time the lesson was over, it was already night.

"Can I step outside for some fresh air?"

My uncle hesitates for a moment before answering, "Sure, go ahead. Just don't wander off too far, alright?"

"I won't," I reply with a self-deprecating thought. If I get lost with my limited language skills, I'll never find my way back.

Outside, some streetlamps are on while others are completely off. The road is narrow and uneven in some places; too tight for two cars to pass simultaneously.

Despite the late hour, some shops are still open, and people are walking on both sides of the street. The weather is pleasant with a light breeze, making a jacket unnecessary.

I'm not sure whether it's how I look or what I'm wearing, but I notice a few glances my way as people passes by. It doesn't bother me, so I keep walking until the crowd lessens. Eventually, I find a quiet park and take a seat on a bench near a lamppost. With no one else around, I tilt my head back to gaze at the sky.

Disappointed by the scarce visibility of stars due to light pollution, I drop my gaze further, until I'm staring at the back of the bench.

I see a girl approaching from a distance, each step bringing her closer. She has long black hair that falls over her shoulders, contrasting with her white top and jeans. As she passes by, our eyes meet briefly, a momentary connection in the dim light. She chooses a spot on the opposite end of the bench and sits down. Shifting my gaze back to her, I find she's already engrossed in her phone, her fingers swiping away on the screen.

The girl appears older than me, but not by much. My eyes linger on her, curiosity brewing. What could she be doing here alone at this hour? My interest fades as quickly as it came, and I shift my gaze back to the night sky. It's nearing midnight.

I stand up, ready to head back, when I hear a voice from across the bench. Our eyes lock again, but this time there's something different, an unspoken question perhaps. After a moment's pause, I turn to leave, only to hear her voice again, this time louder and more insistent.

I turn back to face her and see her giving me a perplexed look. To be honest, I didn't understand a word she said. I scratch at my nonexistent beard and reply in my native language, "I don't understand you," adding an uncomfortable smile.

She narrows her eyes and starts saying something else—another string of words I can't comprehend. It becomes clear that she doesn't understand me either.

Well, let's think about it. What could a young, beautiful woman possibly want from a kid like me in an empty park close to midnight? Especially given my worn-out and dirty clothes.

She certainly doesn't look like she's up to anything sketchy, so what's the deal?

Before I could ponder further, she pressed her palms together and muttered something. Suddenly, a bottle of water and two sandwiches materialized between her hands.

I looked at her, flabbergasted "W-hat?"

She took both items and placed them on her seat, then pointed at them while looking at me. Her expression seemed a bit sad.

Does she think I'm some sort of hobo with no home?

My eyes darted back to the sandwiches—man, they look good.

For a bite of that, I'll be whatever kind of hobo she thinks I am!

With zero shame, I walk over and take a bite of the sandwich. It tastes heavenly, though that might just be because I'm used to far worse. As I savor the meal, the girl watches me, her face breaking into a satisfied smile.

After finishing the sandwich and taking a sip from the bottle, the girl giggles, and points to herself, saying, "Lisa." I assume that's her name. Standing up, I attempt to introduce myself using the bit of Gries my uncle taught me earlier. "My name is Amar."

"Amar?" Lisa looks at me thoughtfully, as if trying to place the name.

She then starts to pat my head, repeating "Amar!" with a joyful smile.

I'm usually not into the whole head-patting thing, but hey, for a sandwich that good, I'll play the pet dog for a moment.

Realizing its midnight, I know I need to head back before my uncle starts worrying. I dodge her patting hand and wave goodbye, grinning as I leave.

Initially puzzled, Lisa hesitates for a moment before waving back, her smile uncertain.

"He really does resemble him," she whispers in Gries to herself as she watches Amar's figure disappear into the distance.

She presses her palms together again before muttering something. A shadow butterfly materializes between her hands. "Track the boy and relay what you see back to me," she commands, her smile taking on a profound depth as she releases the shadowy butterfly.