YIREN (PART 1)
"Papa?" The word slips from my lips out of habit, even though I know I won't get a reply. Yet, some things are impossible to let go of.
"Here."
My heart skips a beat. Did he just… reply?
I'm frozen for a moment, unsure of what's happening. He's not sitting by the window like he always does, sinking into that worn-out old couch. He's in the kitchen. Cooking? Am I in the right house?
I blink, eyes darting around. The house is… spotless. Cleaner than I've ever seen it. Even the unreachable cobwebs I could never get to are gone. It's like someone took the tired, dim version of the house I've known for years and breathed life back into it. The couch by the window—Papa's "real home" after Mom passed, once blackened with time and neglect—now gleams in its original cream shade.
"Give me two minutes, Yiren." His voice snaps me out of my daze, and I peek into the kitchen, too curious to stay still.
