Days passed, winter settled in, and Jerelr and Egemed spent their days writing together in Jerelr's house. Often, Egemed didn't go home at all. He stayed over, writing until midnight. Their goal was clear: earn enough by selling books to build the building Egemed dreamed of.
Every Saturday and Sunday, they spent their afternoons until dusk in the Valley of Breath, restoring their tired minds.
A week before Christmas, they began searching for land.
Day 1: nothing.
Day 2: nothing.
Day 3 and 4: still nothing.
But on the fifth day, they met an old woman living alone in a tiny house. Her land was enormous, but she had no husband—he left her because she could not bear children—and no family at all.
She told them how she had once worked daily in the field when she was young, but now, with old age weighing on her, the field had turned into unused land.
She loved the land deeply and did not want to sell it. But seeing her situation, she made a decision.
She offered the entire land to the two young men for free, with only one request:
"Take care of me until I die."
Egemed refused to take advantage. He didn't want the land for nothing. And he had already decided he would take care of her whether she gave the land or not.
But the old woman begged lovingly.
She said she saw them as her own sons.
Finally, they accepted—not for the land, but for her loneliness.
And from that day on, they made a schedule to visit her every day. They brought food, bought her medicine, and whenever she felt ill, they rushed her to the hospital. Even with their busy writing schedule, they never failed to visit her.
They didn't spend Christmas with their own families that year. The two of them sat near the fire while Mother Meron rested in her chair, a warm blanket draped over her shoulders. She watched them with a gentle smile—the kind only a mother gives—thinking of them as the sons she never had.
Jerelr and Egemed were supposed to be knitting a handkerchief for her, but they were mostly laughing at each other instead.
Egemed watched Jerelr with exaggerated seriousness as he tried to thread the needle.
Then he looked at his own work and burst into laughter—he couldn't even get the thread through the hole.
When Jerelr finally managed to start knitting, Egemed suddenly tugged the thread. Everything Jerelr had done unraveled in an instant.
"Stop it, Ege! This is my gift to Mother Meron!" Jerelr snapped and pinched Egemed's thigh.
"Ah! Don't do that—!" Egemed groaned, grabbing his leg.
"Then don't pull the thread. If you do it again, I'll drag you outside," Jerelr warned.
"Oh really?" Egemed laughed. "Jerelr, I'm stronger than you."
Jerelr sighed dramatically but admitted, "Yes… yes, you are."
He tried knitting again. And Egemed—of course—pulled the thread again.
He stood up immediately, laughing.
Jerelr didn't say a word. He rose to his feet, grabbed Egemed by the collar, and tried dragging him toward the door.
Egemed held on to one of the wooden entrance pillars, laughing uncontrollably.
Mother Meron watched from her chair, chuckling quietly at how childish and playful they were—far too old for this, yet somehow perfect in their innocence.
"Mother Meron!" Jerelr shouted between laughs. "Help me!"
Egemed laughed even harder, sinking to the floor while still clinging to the pole.
"Really, Jerelr? You're asking help from Mother Meron?" he teased, glancing at the old woman, who sat peacefully with a warm smile.
"Just wait, you—! I'll start going to the gym!" Jerelr huffed, though he was laughing too much to look threatening.
Eventually, their laughter faded, and Mother Meron softly called out to them. They returned to their places, sitting down quietly like scolded children.
She took the thread and needle in her frail hands and began showing them how to knit properly.
"Watch closely," she whispered kindly. "Do as I do."
The warm little house was filled with the scent of burning wood from the small fireplace. The winter air pressed softly against the windows, and the gentle crackle of the fire blended with the rhythmic click of the needles moving through the thread.
The two of them leaned in, following her movements—slow, careful, patient.
For a while, the room was silent, save for the soft rhythm of the knitting and the occasional pop from the fire.
Then, a quiet giggle broke the silence as they each tried to see who would finish first. Their eyes met, sparks of playful competitiveness dancing between them, and even Mother Meron couldn't help but smile at their antics.
The warmth of the fire, the smell of winter smoke, and the quiet intimacy of the moment made the room feel like a world all its own.
At last, they managed to knit two small handkerchiefs. They placed them in Mother Meron's hands.
She held them gently, her smile soft and full of love, filling the room with a warmth that rivaled the fire itself.
In her little home, they sang for her and shared stories filled with laughter, their voices carrying through the cozy room—until Mother Meron slowly drifted off to sleep, a peaceful smile on her face.
In her little home, they sang for her and shared stories filled with laughter, their voices carrying through the cozy room—until Mother Meron slowly drifted off to sleep, a peaceful smile on her face.
___
But she grew weaker.
Just after 2015 ended, on January 18th, 2016, she passed away.
Before she died, she handed them the land authority book her mother had once given her.
"If you ever find an old person like me," she said with her last breath, "please take care of them… the way I gave you this land out of love. And the land… do whatever you wish with it."
Then she fell silent.
Only the two of them mourned her.
No one else even came.
Three days later, they buried her, left with two bouquet of white Chrysanthemums.
Rest in Peace, Mother Meron Lymco.
____
Three months passed. Egemed's birthday approached.
Jerelr asked if he wanted to go out of town.
"You know what makes me happy," Egemed replied.
And Jerelr understood instantly.
Early morning, they left for the city and spent the day helping the poor and homeless. By evening, they returned to their hometown market and continued—buying food, clothes, and medicine for the needy.
That night, they sat on the balcony of Jerelr's house with a large cake, leaning back and watching the stars.
Jerelr sang "Happy Birthday" in an intentionally horrible voice until Egemed groaned,
"STOP IT."
Jerelr only laughed louder as Egemed cut the cake.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BROTHER EGEMED! MAY YOU SHINE BRIGHTER THAN THE STARS!"
"Come," Egemed said. "Let's share it with your family. And I'll take some for mine."
They went downstairs.
Jerelr's family celebrated with them, teasing Egemed about marriage now that he was twenty-seven. Egemed smiled calmly, replying only, "I'm not sure."
Jerelr defended him instantly:
"We'll marry when we're thirty-five."
"You two must love each other so much," Jerelr's mother laughed.
Egemed covered his smile with his hand, amused.
Soon after, Egemed bowed politely.
"Mother, may I take Jerelr home with me?"
"Of course."
___
Back at Egemed's Home
Heryl was waiting outside with a gift.
"Brother! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!, Mother and Father are waiting."
Inside, his parents surprised him with a cake.
Egemed burst into tears—he realized how little time he'd had with them since becoming an author.
He hugged them tightly.
After dinner, Jerelr followed Egemed to his room. He moved naturally, like it was his own home—opening the wardrobe, picking a pair of pajamas, settling into bed beside him.
Egemed opened Heryl's gift: a pair of brown and black leather gloves.
Jerelr snorted.
"Haah! Your little brother must've noticed how much you love wearing gloves… not knowing why your hands were ruined."
Then something struck him—he jolted out of bed and hurried to the secret drawer. He pulled it open and found the box of sharp objects untouched.
He knelt there silently.
"I see… you kept your promise."
Egemed nodded softly.
"Why would I lie to you? You saw the scars healing. I only wear bandages so my mother doesn't notice."
Jerelr returned to bed.
"Yes."
After a moment, he asked,
"Brother Ege… when will we start building? It's been three months since Mother Meron passed away."
"Maybe the first week of May."
Jerelr smiled with bright excitement.
"I can't wait to see what you're planning."
"You'll know. We're building it together."
They talked about the project—how long it might take, how many workers they needed, and the name of the building.
"We should name it after Mother Meron," Egemed said.
"As respect."
"Yes," Jerelr agreed. "People should know her kindness."
They kept talking quietly until sleep finally pulled them under.