The girl went to visit the boy's grandma, a funny little old woman. She dressed in flowery dresses and wore a fabric hairpiece to cover her hair. She took care of a few chickens and had a huge garden where she grew vegetables. Occasionally, she had a glass of white wine mixed with water. Her cooking was delicious-her hands made good soups and baked meat. Her bean soup was so smooth and tasty, it was something you could eat and then want even more. The baked chicken was juicy, and the spices were just right. Her cheese dumpling soup was salty and sour, but so delicious you could dream about it. She disliked rice dishes, so most meals were soups and meat. In the morning, she had coffee and a few napolitana cookies. If she knew she had a lot of work ahead, her breakfast would be a piece of bread with spreadable cheese or two eggs to dip bread into the yolk.
The girl visited her a few times, and the feeling of that home was comforting. After the boy left his family and moved in with his grandma, the girl started visiting more often. Slowly, she began staying for two days, then a week, and eventually, she moved in with his grandma too. They slept in the attic, where there was one room. Summers were hot and winters were cold, but they had warm blankets, and when the fire was heating the house, it was cozy.
As they started living together, their romance became more serious. They began thinking about marriage and married as soon as they could. She moved in permanently and helped the boy's grandma around the house.
Since both were still finishing high school, neither of them had a job. Occasionally, they earned a few coins by helping elderly villagers with tasks like chopping wood or cutting grass. Most of the time, they helped the grandma with her garden, watering plants, chopping wood, and similar chores.
But there was a problem. The grandma still had a daughter at home who struggled with illness. This daughter could sometimes be aggressive, and after a sudden attack, the girl moved out, seeking refuge in the boy's mother's unfinished house. She had nowhere else to go. The boy's grandma asked her to come back, but she decided to stay in the empty house.
When winter came, she had no wood for heating, so she blocked one of the door openings and curled up in a small room on a leather chair, wearing winter clothes to stay warm. Sometimes, she returned to the grandma's house for food and to warm up. The grandma allowed her to wash and take care of herself when she needed. But after what had happened, the girl remained cautious.
As the weeks passed, the boy moved in with her. Slowly, they started bringing in items, one by one. Most things were second-hand, but eventually, the house began to feel more livable. Over time, they gathered enough to stay warmer in winter and even cook using a small, used kitchen.
The girl began breeding rabbits that she received from her uncle and raised chickens she bought at a low price. With her own meat and eggs, life became a bit easier. During one particularly hard winter, she survived mostly on canned plums and one loaf of bread per week, because she couldn't afford more.
As the girl lived in harsh and humble conditions, her heart was full of warmth, captivated by a kind of love she had never experienced before. She was so deeply in love, it gave her a sense of freedom-like a wild horse running through open fields, untouched and unbound. The struggles of everyday life-the lack of comfort, the cold winters, the lack of money-seemed smaller under the light of her feelings. There was a spark in her chest that burned brighter than fear. In her mind, love could conquer it all. She had no idea what challenges would come next. She couldn't imagine the emotional weight she would carry later on, nor the decisions that would shape her identity.
Fueled by this powerful connection, she decided to marry the boy. Their wedding came quickly, within a single month. It was not lavish, but it was heartfelt. A small group of people joined the celebration. Her parents, though not wealthy, paid for the food and modest party, wanting at least this one day to be joyful. The young couple themselves bought the rings and the simplest of wedding clothes. There was laughter, music, a promise spoken in front of others-but did she truly know what she was doing? No, not fully. Her eyes sparkled with dreams, but they were also naïve. She expected happiness, because she believed love alone would carry them through any hardship. The fast movement of events-marriage, leaving her home, settling into a new life-blinded her to the red flags that were already forming in the distance.
At first, everything felt like a new adventure. She poured herself into making their empty, unfinished house feel like a home. Each corner she cleaned, each old item they brought in made her feel like they were building something meaningful. Meanwhile, the boy, now her husband, started to lose himself in computer games and alcohol. At the beginning, she joined him from time to time, seeing it as fun-an escape. They shared laughter with other young people, slept in tents near rivers during summer evenings, sang songs, cooked on small fires, and gazed at the stars. They felt like explorers of life, rebels against the system, chasing the dream of freedom. It was a beautiful illusion.
But slowly, cracks started to form. She felt the weight of responsibility more than he did. While he was slipping into distractions, she began looking inward for answers. One day, while cleaning the attic, she stumbled upon a box filled with old books. Some were torn, some dusty, but one caught her eye-an old book on chakras, written by a renowned Chinese guru. It felt like a small gift from the universe, a reminder of the girl she once was-the one who believed in energy, spirit, and the quiet wisdom that lives in silence.
As she read, a part of her began to awaken. She remembered teachings she had once heard before: that energy flows in us, and to rise in strength, one must first root deeply. "Start from the bottom," the book said, "strengthen your root." So she began. Each evening, when others weren't around to disturb her, she sat in stillness. She focused on her breath, slow and intentional, and visualized the color red. She imagined roots growing from her spine into the earth, anchoring her being. A gentle warmth grew deep in her lower belly as if something dormant was coming back to life.
She repeated simple words: I am. This affirmation became her quiet ritual, her personal prayer. Even when life around her was unstable, this practice gave her something stable within. In that silence, she found a small light-self-care. Not just as a luxury, but as a necessity to survive. It was the first time in a long time she felt a sense of peace, and it came not from others, but from herself.