Draymond couldn't respond. His internal battle was raging. Part of him wanted to ask her to tidy up the room, to bring order to the chaos. But another part knew he needed to face his anxiety, to learn to coexist with the world's imperfections.
With great effort, he managed a small, hesitant smile.
"Can I organize a book that's not arranged properly?" he suddenly asked.
Zarina's eyes widened suddenly in disbelief.
"What?! Is that all you have to say instead of expressing gratitude?" she loudly asked, feeling upset.
"Zarina, why are you constantly shouting? Why are you yelling at our guest?" Grandma scolded her granddaughter in front of the man before turning her attention to him. "I apologize for my granddaughter's behavior. If you want to arrange everything here, feel free to do it. But before anything else, please have something to eat. You've lost a lot of blood, dear, so you should eat first," Grandma said with a warm smile.
Meanwhile, Zarina left dumbfounded. She zipped her mouth and just stared at the young man sitting on her bed.
"Start with soft food so your stitches won't be stressed," Grandma reminded him.
Draymond glanced at the food on the tray. There was cereal with milk and some fruit.
He nodded and took his meal. He poured just the right amount of milk into the cereal, exactly twenty-four bites.
'Why does it seem like something's wrong?' Zarina wondered.
'Why does he seem different? Is he always this accustomed to tapping on the table as if everything he does has a pattern, a rhythm, and a specific count?' Zarina thought as she observed Draymond's every move. She found it strange as she observed the man, who seemed to act as if everything he did followed a specific pattern and was perfectly timed.
'Aish! I don't know what I'm thinking anymore.' Zarina sighed in silence.
"Are you done checking me, miss?" Draymond inquired as he chewed the food.
Zarina's eyes widened at the unexpected statement from the man.
"Excuse me? I haven't been staring at you! How audacious of you." she said, averting her eyes.
"Why are you blushing then? And you avoid eye contact," Draymond bluntly stated, causing Zarina to blink rapidly.
"Shut up! You know nothing," Zarina retorted, rolling her eyes.
"Aish! Just excuse her, dear. She's too sassy, probably having a hormonal imbalance. Hahaha," Grandma chuckled, carrying the tray Draymond had eaten from.
Hearing her grandma's remark, Zarina pouted her lips.
"Alright, now that you've finished eating, I suggest you get some more rest," Grandma said before leaving the room.
Seeing her grandma leave, Zarina quickly followed.
'Hmm. What a pity. Perhaps his family is searching for him,' Grandma Martha thought as she went to the kitchen while Zarina remained in the living room.
When Zarina and Grandma Martha left and closed the door, Draymond locked it and shut the windows. He surveyed the room, feeling like he was in a prison. Everything seemed strange, creating a new and unsettling environment for him.
****
The sun began to set, and darkness slowly covered the surroundings, including Draymond's thoughts. He just wanted to close his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the disarray—the books out of place, the scattered sketch pencils.
'It's obvious a fashion designer owns this room,' he whispered, his eyes closed. Trying to calm himself.
A moment later, he opened his eyes and scanned the room again. Finally, his eyes landed on the numerous sketches and pens scattered on the table.
'I really can't handle this,' he whispered to himself and then stood up from the bed.
Fortunately, the floor was carpeted, just like he was used to in his room. He placed his bare feet on the carpet and walked towards the table.
'The working table is just two steps from the bed,' he said to himself as he estimated the distance of the working table from the bed.
Reaching the table, he slowly collected the scattered pencils. He counted them repeatedly and neatly arranged them in the pencil case. His eyes scanned the surroundings repeatedly, searching for any imperfections. Anxiety surged inside him, threatening to overwhelm his senses.
Clutching the injured part of his body, he repeated the action.
'Everything should be perfect,' he thought.
Meanwhile, Grandma Martha decided to visit their guest to check his wound. But the moment she opened the door, she saw him standing and arranging the books again and again.
'Wait, what is he doing? Is he counting and rearranging Zarina's belongings? He looks extremely sweaty! Could it be?' Grandma questioned herself.
She approached the young man slowly.
"Why are you standing? Your wound isn't healed yet, and your body is still weak!" Grandma said as she entered the room.
Unable to bear what she saw, Grandma called him, "Son, Can we talk?"
Draymond spun around, catching Grandma off guard with his sudden, startled reaction.
"Damn! I didn't notice Grandma went inside the room," he meditated.
"About what, grandma?" he managed to muster a brief smile. He released the book from his hand and made an effort to focus on Grandma.
"Okay, dear, but first take a deep breath, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale," Grandma said.
'Why is she acting strange?' he silently asked. But then, Draymond followed Grandma's instructions. He took a deep breath again and again.
"Are you okay now? Come, let's sit down for a moment," Grandma said, gesturing to the bed.
Draymond obediently followed her.
Draymond's eyes were locked on the view from the window when they sat on the bed. He saw nothing but darkness.
"I can see how overwhelming everything you've seen here is. But remember, you have the power to control your thoughts," Grandma suddenly said, looking directly into his eyes.
'Huh? What does Grandma mean? Can she read my mind?' he panicked in silence. He didn't reply to her; instead, he tried to fight the inner battles in his mind.
Noticing Draymond's silence while staring outside the window, Grandma took a deep breath before saying, "Hmm... twenty-four spoons."
"Huh? What's twenty-four spoons are you talking about? I don't understand," Draymond's eyes turned to Grandma, looking at her with narrowed brows.
"Twenty-four spoons of cereal is what you ate earlier. You have this hobby of counting everything, tapping your fingers, and always demanding perfection, don't you?" Grandma said mysteriously.
He clenched his fists in surprise. It felt as though Grandma had just pierced his heart with arrows.
'Grandma is quite direct,' he silently mumbled to himself.
"Forgive my manners; I sound rude. I didn't even introduce myself, sorry," she chuckled.
"I am Martha, just call me Grandma. What's your name?" Grandma suddenly asked.