Adam thought he was speaking to himself in solitude, unaware that his every word, uttered aloud in a feverish pitch, was being caught by ears outside his door. His grandfather stood just inches away, leaning against the frame, listening. Yet, no shadow of surprise crossed the old man's face. It was as if Adam's decision to descend into the vault was not a shock, but a destiny long anticipated. He remained there, motionless, until Adam fell silent and the lights of the room flickered out, leaving only the rhythmic sound of his grandson's sleep to break the stillness.
Leaning heavily on his cane, the grandfather retreated to his own room. He sat in silence on his sofa for several minutes before using the tip of his cane to drag a small, weathered wooden chest from beneath the shadows. He opened it and pulled out an ancient photo album, buried under layers of time and dust. After brushing away the grime, he began to flip through the pages, one by one, his eyes searching until they locked onto a single photograph. There, he stopped.
The next morning, both Adam and his grandfather woke early, as was their custom. Adam had his early shift, and the grandfather, never one to sleep after the dawn prayer, would remain reading the Quran until it was time for breakfast. A young girl from the neighborhood, who had looked after them for years, arrived to prepare their meal.
As they sat together, Adam kept glancing at his grandfather, the words heavy on his tongue. Finally, he broke the silence.
"Grandfather," he began, using the name the old man loved to be called by, "could you manage living here alone?"
The grandfather looked up, masking his understanding behind a veil of confusion. "Are you planning to travel, or what?"
Adam fell silent for a moment, then looked at him again. "If I were to go away for a short while... could you manage?" He rushed to explain, "I know my words might come as a shock, but I've decided to leave the town for a bit. I swear to you, I'll return as soon as possible. You won't even feel my absence."
He tried to justify his sudden urge: "I'm traveling to find myself—to find a place where I actually exist. You know what your grandson, the commerce graduate, does for a living, don't you?"
"Yes," the old man replied softly. "He works in a drug warehouse."
"Exactly. Your grandson works in a warehouse."
Adam stood up, ready to flee the room and the conversation. "I'll be gone only for a short time," he said, turning toward the door.
But he was frozen in his tracks by his grandfather's calm, piercing words:
"Why lie to me, Adam? Why don't you just tell me the truth—that you intend to go down into the vault?"