For as long as the narrator could remember, their grandmother had been a woman of quiet habits and gentle refusals. Whenever the family gathered for birthdays, anniversaries, or casual dinners at restaurants, she would smile politely, shake her head, and say she wasn’t hungry. Sometimes she claimed she had already eaten. Other times, she said she preferred to stay home and rest. No matter the occasion, her answer rarely changed. As a child, the narrator assumed this was simply part of her personality. She seemed practical, cautious with money, and uninterested in crowded places. Adults around her rarely questioned it either. They described her as “old-fashioned,” “simple,” or “just set in her ways.

As the years passed, the grandmother’s habits remained unchanged. While the rest of the family celebrated milestones in bustling restaurants filled with laughter and clinking glasses, she stayed behind in her small living room, often with a book, a cup of tea, or the television playing softly in the background. The narrator sometimes felt a twinge of disappointment that she didn’t want to join them. It felt as though she was choosing distance over connection.