Page 14

Myall

Dust motes dance lazily in the stale air as I scan the rows of data on the Sentinel system.

I can’t stop glancing at Ziva across the aisle. Her tense posture and jerky movements make it clear something is off today.

Yesterday she was distracted, today she’s downright jittery. My mind churns with possibilities. Did she have a breakthrough? Crack the NeuroMods code somehow? Was Ziva the one who stole the NeuroMod blueprints?

I want to rush over and ask her, but not here—not with cameras, Technicians, and Compliance Monitors everywhere. We need a safe place to talk, but I haven’t been able to find one yet.

Yesterday we made a plan to meet in private after our shift was over, and I spent most of the night awake, trying to think of possible places where we could talk without being overheard. Mentally, I mapped out the city, but each location that came to mind was quickly dismissed as unsuitable.

My fingers move over the keypad on autopilot, inputting citizen emotion data, but my thoughts are elsewhere. Only three hours until our shift ends—and I can take Ziva to meet Grandma Elara, the only place I’ve deemed safe enough.

“Hansen!” A sharp male voice cuts through my reverie and I glance up at the imposing figure of Supervisor Sant standing before my workstation. “Your productivity is down 8% this week. Explain.”

I swallow hard against the dryness in my throat, forcing my face into a mask of calm even as my heart thuds painfully against my ribs. “Apologies, sir. I’ve been experiencing some eye strain. I’ll increase my output immediately.”

The afternoon Compliance Supervisor nods curtly and moves on. I breathe a sigh of relief, but my heart is pounding.

Sneaking another glance at Ziva, her tense posture betrays her calm facade. Her fingers tap against the desk in a rhythmic, nervous pattern, a sign she’s trying to hold herself back from asking what Sant wanted.

The minutes crawl by like hours. I try to focus on my work, but my mind keeps drifting to what’s to come. Will Grandma’s stories affect Ziva the way they affected me? Will she understand the beauty, the power of unbridled emotion? And most importantly, will Grandma Elara approve of Ziva?

Finally, mercifully, the end-of-shift bell rings. I stand, stretching cramped muscles, and make my way to Ziva’s workstation.

“Ready?” I ask softly, nodding farewell to Lena as she glares in our direction.

Ziva nods, her face carefully blank, but I catch a tremor in her hand as she gathers her things. Something is definitely off with her today.

As we walk towards the exit of the building, I murmur, “We’re going to visit my grandmother. She hasn’t been feeling well.”

Ziva’s dark eyebrows raise slightly, but she plays along. “That’s kind of you. I hope she gets better soon.”

We pass through the security checkpoint unscathed and step out of the stark, sterile building of the Compliance Monitoring Division and into the open streets.

Ziva’s eyes dart around, scanning for potential eavesdroppers as we slowly walk.

I can sense her unease, the tension radiating from her body.

“So, where exactly are we going?” she asks, her voice low and guarded.

Leaning in close, my lips barely move as I respond, “Like I said, we’re visiting my grandmother. She hasn’t been feeling well lately.”

Ziva’s eyebrow arches skeptically. “A sick grandmother? How convenient,” she says, voice laced with thinly veiled skepticism.

She thinks it’s a cover story, but little does she know, we’re actually heading to see Grandma Elara. We walk down the street, away from the building and from prying eyes and ears.

Leaning in close, I feel the warmth from her body as our shoulders touch. “Are you okay? You seemed…off today.”

Ziva’s eyes dart around nervously. “Not here,” she whispers. “But yes, we need to talk.”

Whatever Ziva’s figured out must be big if it’s got her this jittery. We continue walking, our footsteps echoing off the concrete buildings that line the streets. Holographic ads flicker as we walk, reminding citizens to maintain harmony.

I steal glances at Ziva as we navigate the crowded sidewalks from the work-time rush. Her eyes are constantly moving, taking in every detail of our surroundings.

“It’s not what you think,” I murmur, careful to keep my voice down. “My grandmother…she’s different. Special. You’ll see when you meet her.”

Ziva’s hand brushes mine briefly, sending a tremor through me. I try to ignore the flutter in my chest, focusing on the path ahead. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Myall,” she whispers back. “If we’re caught…”

Swallowing hard, I push down the fear that threatens to rise. “We won’t be. Trust me.”

As we turn down a quieter street, the imposing facades give way to older, more weathered buildings. It’s like stepping into a different world, one where the relentless march of progress hasn’t quite erased all traces of the past.

“It’s strange,” Ziva muses, her eyes lingering on a crumbling brick wall. “I’ve never been to this part of the city before. It feels…different.”

I nod, a mix of pride and nostalgia washing over me. “This is where my grandmother lives. It’s one of the few areas they haven’t ‘modernized’ yet.”

As we approach Grandma Elara’s house, I suddenly begin second guessing myself. I’m about to introduce Ziva to the person who shaped my worldview, who planted the seeds of rebellion in my mind. I only hope that Ziva is ready for what she’s about to experience.

We approach the modest dwelling, it’s faded blue paint and slightly overgrown garden standing out in against the sterile uniformity of the surrounding buildings. I can’t help but smile, remembering countless afternoons spent here growing up, basking in the warmth of Grandma’s love and wisdom.

“This is it,” I say to Ziva, gesturing towards the house. Her eyes widen slightly, taking in the uniqueness of the place.

Pushing open the weathered wooden gate, its hinges creak softly.

Ziva follows close behind as we approach the small cottage.

I knock, three quick raps followed by two slow ones—our secret code.

The door creaks open, revealing Grandma Elara’s kind face, her eyes crinkling with a smile that makes my chest ache with a forbidden surge of affection.

“Myall, my sweet boy,” she says, her voice as soothing as always. Her gaze shifts to Ziva. “And who’s this lovely young lady?”

“Grandma, this is Ziva,” I say, ushering us inside as Grandma Elara closes the door softly behind us. “Ziva, meet my grandmother, Elara Hansen.”

Ziva extends her hand as we stand in the entryway of Grandma’s house, ever cautious. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hansen.”

Grandma bypasses the handshake, pulling Ziva into a tight hug. Ziva’s tense posture instantly relaxes, her shoulders dropping as if a weight has been lifted. Grandma Elara has that effect on people—it’s like her very presence radiates comfort and understanding.

Grandma chuckles as she releases Ziva, ushering us further inside the house. “Please, call me Elara. Or Grandma, if you’d like. Any friend of Myall’s is family to me.”

The interior of the cottage is a stark contrast to the city outside.

Warm light spills from mismatched lamps, illuminating the array of furniture and the walls are adorned with faded photographs and hand-painted landscapes.

The room is filled with the scent of cinnamon, mingling with the musty, comforting smell of old books.

We settle onto the worn sofa as Grandma Elara brings over a tray of steaming tea.

“Now,” she says, taking a seat in her favorite armchair, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “I suspect you two didn’t come just for tea and pleasantries. You want to hear about the old days, don’t you?”

Ziva leans forward, her curiosity palpable. “The old days? You mean…before the NeuroMods?”

Grandma Elara nods, her expression turning wistful.

“Oh, those were different times, my sweet girl. Imagine a world where your heart could soar like a bird on the wind, or plummet like a stone in a still pond. Where a smile wasn’t just a facial expression, but a burst of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. ”

A lump forms in my throat, tightening with each of Grandma’s words. Even with my dampened emotions, Grandma’s words paint vivid pictures in my mind. I glance at Ziva, seeing the wonder in her eyes.

“But wasn’t it chaotic?” Ziva asks softly. “That’s what they always told us.”

Grandma Elara’s laugh is like windchimes in a gentle breeze. “Oh, it could be, certainly. But that was the beauty of it—life was a tapestry, each thread a distinct hue, each emotion a vital part. Joy, sorrow, anger, love—they all had their place, their purpose.”

Grandma continues to weave her tales of a world unbound by emotional regulation, and I feel my breath catching as wonder lights up Ziva’s eyes, her fingers clenching the fabric of the sofa as if anchoring herself to this moment.

The usual guardedness in her eyes is melting away, replaced by something I’ve never seen before—hope.

I lean forward, captivated by Grandma Elara’s every word. Her stories are a lifeline to a world I long to understand.

“Tell us more about love,” I say, my voice thick with longing. “What was it like when people could feel it freely?”

Grandma’s eyes sparkle. “Love, Myall? It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, heart pounding, knowing you could fall at any moment. But instead of fear, you felt…alive.”

Looking at Ziva, I catch the wonder in her eyes. She’s sitting on the edge of her seat, brow furrowed in concentration. I can almost see her mind working, trying to reconcile these vivid descriptions with our reality.

“But how did people function?” Ziva interjects, her tone a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “With all those…feelings rushing around?”

Grandma chuckles softly. “We managed, dear. In fact, those emotions drove us to create, to connect, to live more fully than you can imagine.”