My grandpa gave a video call.

I haven’t seen him like ages so I grabbed the iPad. The signal must be poor, and I couldn’t see him clearly in the screen. But he was crying.

My grandpa has never cried, even he has multiple reasons to do so. There were so many losses in his life, his factories, his second daughter, his wife. But he’d never cried.

“Grandpa, what’s wrong? Did you miss me?” I asked, somehow in a low voice as if I am trying to make unfamiliar sounds from a foreign language.

I am my grandpa’s favorite and he makes sure that everybody knows that, like, if he has five candy, he would give me four and the other one for my cousin. His face always cracks into a big smile when he sees me. Grandpa never cries.

It’s a fresh for me, to be someone’s favorite. Every one prefers a boy. And it feels great.

He takes me to the cinema. And we are always a few minutes late so we can get the ticket at half a price. However, he often fells in sleep in the middle of the movie.

“Grandpa, if you want to see me, we could have a lunch together and how about we met at a restaurant?”

The image in the screen appears to be clearer. I still couldn’t see his face, but someone in hospital pajamas came into view. “Oh, my god. Are you sick?” I blurted out and then I stopped. It’s not my grandma get sick. It’s me. My grandma died almost twenty years old.

I woke up. Oh, Grandpa.