"You're finally home," their mother said warmly, glancing over her shoulder from the simmering pot. "Go sit down, don't bother helping me. You both must be tired. The food will soon be ready."
The familiar aroma of her cooking filled the air — rich spices, stewing meat, and something faintly smoky from the firewood beneath the pot. The warmth of home wrapped around them like a soft blanket.
Not long after, lunch was served. Everyone gathered around the wooden dining table, laughter and overlapping conversations filling the room. Alex's father and Tom were deep in discussion — the kind of talk only men of experience could enjoy — while the women filled the air with their own cheerful banter.
Their mother's sister had also come by, bringing her children along. The house was lively — full of chatter, footsteps, and the clatter of plates. It was the kind of chaos that felt like comfort.
Between bites, their mother sighed contentedly.
"I'm just happy your father finally cut off those bloodsuckers he called family," she said, shaking her head. "If not, that retirement money would have ended up in their pockets — and that would have been no laughing matter."
Clara laughed softly.
"Honestly, even when he got the money, some of his friends went off to rent those big, fancy apartments. But you…"
"Yes," her mother said proudly. "I advised him not to follow them. For once, he actually listened. That's why he bought that land and started building the new house. Tell me, won't rent finish after just two years? What sense does that make?"
Alex smiled quietly to herself, her fork resting on her plate. She couldn't help but think about how easily people were blinded by money — spending it like it would never run out.
"Thank Goodness Dad listened," Clara said thoughtfully. "So when do you plan for us to move into the new house?"
Their mother wiped her hands on a towel.
"After Christmas. We'll celebrate here, then two days later, we'll move. We'll start the New Year in our own house."
"That sounds perfect," Alex said with a bright smile.
A moment later, their mother's expression shifted slightly, as though she had just remembered something.
"Oh! Did you hear about Mr. Paul, your father's friend?"
"Yes, what about him?" Alex asked, her tone curious.
Her mother's voice grew solemn.
"He's dead. It was quite unfortunate. He slipped because of wet tiles, hit his head… and that was it."
Clara frowned, sadness softening her features.
"Ahh, that must have been those glossy wall tiles. They have no grip — no friction at all. A terrible mistake for a floor."
"When's the funeral?" Alex asked quietly.
"Tomorrow," their mother replied. "We'll all attend together."
~~~
The next day passed in a blur. The funeral was solemn and quiet, the air heavy with the weight of grief. Before anyone realized, it was Christmas Eve — and the entire neighborhood had transformed.
~~~
Christmas morning dawned bright and bustling. The whole street smelled of joy — roasted meats, fried spices, and fresh pastries wafting from every house. Children ran about in new clothes, and the air buzzed with laughter, music, and greetings shouted from one compound to another.
Alex woke up to the irresistible smell of fried turkey filling the entire house. She jumped out of bed and rushed to the kitchen.
"Smells amazing!" she said, peering into a bowl of freshly fried turkey wings.
But her enthusiasm quickly earned her a sharp look from her mother.
"Alex, if you eat one more piece before we serve, you'll leave this kitchen!"
"I'm just… testing the seasoning!" Alex protested, grinning.
"Testing, eh? Out!" her mother scolded, though a smile tugged at her lips.
Even Clara joined in, laughing as she shooed her younger sister away with a wooden spoon.
"You're worse than a rat, Alex! Go before Mum bans you from tasting anything again!"
Defeated but laughing, Alex snuck a last piece of turkey and darted out of the kitchen before anyone could catch her.
~~~
While Alex enjoyed the warmth of family and festivities, miles away, Muiz was battling a different kind of chaos.
He stood in a small, cluttered music store, his brow furrowed as he listened to a frustrated customer.
"Muiz, this is the first time I've bought something from you that didn't work right," said a man named Ben, pointing at a DJ controller sitting on the counter.
Muiz sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I'm really sorry, Ben. I was surprised when you called. I promise I'll handle it — just give me until Thursday. I've got a party gig tonight, but I'll fix this."
Ben hesitated, then nodded.
"Alright. I trust you. Just make sure it's done."
As soon as Ben left, Muiz took the faulty equipment to a friend who was an electronics engineer. The two spent hours hunched over the machine, searching for the problem. The sound of soldering, the smell of burning metal, and the occasional frustrated sigh filled the small workshop.
Finally, after several hours, they found the fault. But Muiz barely had time to breathe — he had a job to play at that night.
By evening, the club lights flashed as he stood behind his set, the crowd roaring when the first beat dropped. The speakers boomed to life, the music vibrating through the floor. The exhaustion faded from his face, replaced by the pure focus of an artist lost in his craft.
When the night ended, Muiz packed up his gear, exhausted. He slept only a few hours before returning to his friend's workshop to finish the repair.
By the next day, the equipment was finally fixed. He called Ben, who came over to test it. The moment the speakers crackled to life without issue, Ben smiled.
"Perfect. I knew I could count on you," he said, shaking Muiz's hand before leaving.
Muiz let out a deep sigh of relief. Finally — peace.
He crashed onto his bed and slept deeply, the kind of sleep that comes only after long days of work.
When he woke up hours later, sunlight spilled across his room. He grabbed his phone and saw a message from Alex that had been waiting for him.
Alex: Hi, how are you doing?
He smiled, his fatigue melting away, and typed back.
Muiz: I'm good. How was your journey? Did you enjoy Christmas?
Moments later, her reply came in.
Alex: It was lovely! I had fun — too much food, though. How was your week?
Muiz: Busy. You wouldn't believe how hectic it's been. I barely slept these last few nights.Alex lay on her bed, grinning as she read his message, her thumbs moving quickly as she typed back. The warmth of their connection made her cheeks glow. She didn't even notice when a pillow suddenly flew across the room and landed squarely on her head.
"Ouch! Antony !" she laughed, dodging another playful throw