I stepped into the room, the familiar warmth of the shared space wrapping around me. The bathroom door creaked as I opened it, intent on a quick freshening up before heading to the dining room.
The faint but enticing aroma of lunch wafted through the air, promising something rich and savory. My stomach growled in approval. "At least the food's decent here," I thought, closing the door behind me.
A couple of minutes later, as I washed my hands, my phone buzzed from the bedside table.
Drying my hands on the nearby towel, I walked over and picked it up, my screen lighting up with a text from Grandma:
"You didn't call last night. Forgot about your old grandma already?"
My lips twitched into a rare smile, guilt bubbling up. I'd been so caught up in the chaos here—Layla, the awkward moments, the director's whims that it had completely slipped my mind. Grandma wasn't one to let me off easy, though.
