Miriam

The idea came to him reluctantly while aimlessly scrolling through the news on his phone. Maybe Miriam would have something. She was practically the boss of the house, so she would probably know where to find some old pictures. But that didn’t mean he actually wanted to talk to her much. Their relationship was... complicated. She was "nice" – in that superficial way that always felt a little ****. And she had this knack for getting involved in things that almost always drove him up the wall. But if she really had a picture, he had to try. With a sinking feeling, he stepped into the apartment.

"You're home already?" she called out from the living room. "I was hoping you'd be out a little longer."

Kicking off his shoes, he shuffled in her direction. She was lounging on the couch with a cup of tea, her feet casually propped on the coffee table. When she looked up at him, there was a flicker of surprise in her expression, as though he were an unexpected guest in his own home.

"I need to ask you something," he began, crossing his arms over his chest.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, that's new. What do you need to know?"

"It's for... a school project," he muttered, avoiding her gaze. "I need a photo from when I was little. Preferably from when my mom was still around."

Her smile faltered, turning stiff. He saw her press her lips together briefly before answering. "A photo? Of you and your mom? Hmm."

"Do you have anything?" he asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

She set her mug down and leaned back. "I don’t know. I don’t think I kept much. I didn’t really hold on to her stuff."

The last sentence hit him like a jab. It sounded cold, almost dismissive.

"Maybe just one of me by myself?" he pushed, swallowing his irritation. "Something from back when... well, when things were different."

She studied him for a long moment, as if deciding whether or not it was worth the effort. Finally, she stood up. "I’ll take a look," she said flatly, heading toward the attic.

A while later, she returned with a dusty box and plopped it onto the kitchen table. "This is all I’ve got," she announced.

He opened the box and started flipping through the photos. Most of them were dull: vacation pictures, birthday parties where he was always in the background, stiff and awkward.

Suddenly, she pulled a photo from the stack and held it up. "Here," she said with a strange tone in her voice. "This one fits."

He took it from her hand – and froze. The picture showed him at about three or four years old, with a lopsided haircut, a wildly colorful pajama set, and an oversized bib that hung all the way to his knees. In one hand, he held a cookie; in the other, a plastic hammer. His face was a bizarre mix of a laugh and a tantrum, clearly captured in the middle of some kind of meltdown.

"You can't be serious," he said, staring at her in disbelief.

She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "What? It’s adorable. And it shows exactly who you were back then."

"This is just embarrassing!" he snapped, his voice shaking with anger.

"Then find something better yourself," she shot back with a smirk.

"You’re making fun of me," he accused.

"Oh, come on," she said, throwing her hands up in mock innocence. "It’s just a picture. Maybe you should lighten up a little. You can’t live in the past forever."

Her comment stopped him cold. It felt like she’d sucked all the air out of the room.

"Forget it," he muttered, shoving the photo back into the box. "I’ll find something myself."

"Suit yourself," she said coolly, hefting the box to take it back. But as she turned away, a faint smile played on her lips. She had an idea – one she wasn’t about to share with him.

Later that night, when the house was quiet, he sat alone in his room. Her comment kept echoing in his mind. Frustrated, he got up and pulled open a drawer where he kept old things he’d long forgotten about.He found a few photos he’d tossed in there years ago. Carefully, he spread them out on his desk. One showed him as a child on his mother’s shoulders, both of them laughing. His heart ached as he stared at it. But it felt too personal to use for school.Another was of him proudly holding up a chestnut craft he’d made, around the age of seven or eight. It was harmless, but he remembered how his classmates had teased him for how seriously he’d taken it back then.He sighed and kept looking. One showed him with a crooked smile at his grandmother’s house. It was sweet, but he didn’t like the way he looked in it – like he wasn’t really himself.

Eventually, he leaned back in his chair, the photos scattered around him. None of them felt right. None of them showed him the way he remembered being. The memory of his mom lingered in his mind, but it felt distant – like an echo fading further away. Disheartened, he put the photos back in the drawer and let his head fall into his hands. "This is going to be a disaster," he muttered. "First assignment, and I’m already getting a fail."

That night, as he lay staring at the ceiling, he heard faint noises coming from elsewhere in the house. He didn’t know why, but he felt a mix of irritation and unease. Whatever Miriam was up to – it couldn’t be good. And the thought of how she might embarrass him kept him awake.

The next morning at the breakfast table, he sat in silence. His dad was already there, flipping through the newspaper, while Miriam leaned against the counter with her usual cup of coffee. The smell of toast and marmalade hung in the air, but he didn’t feel like eating.

"You look like you didn’t sleep well," his dad remarked, not looking up from the paper.

"I didn’t," he mumbled, poking at his cereal.

"Why?" his dad asked, finally glancing over.

"Because of this stupid homework," he blurted. "I have to bring in a picture from when I was little and talk about it. But I don’t have anything decent. Everything looks ridiculous, and now I’m probably going to fail."

"Come on," his dad said, putting the paper down. "It’s just an assignment. It’s not the end of the world."

"It is to me," he grumbled. "How am I supposed to talk about something when I don’t even have a decent picture?"

Miriam looked up from her coffee, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "Don’t worry. I found one last night."

His head shot up. "What? Really?"

"Yeah," she said casually, gesturing toward the table. "It’s in an envelope. Right there."

Sure enough, a brown envelope with his name on it sat on the kitchen table.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I didn’t want to stress you out," she said sweetly. "But now you’ve got a picture. Problem solved, right?"

He picked up the envelope, turning it over in his hands. "What kind of picture is it?"

"One from your childhood," she said, her smile widening. "Don’t worry, it’s perfect."

"Let me see," his dad said, curious.

"No time for that," Miriam interjected quickly. "He’ll miss the bus if he doesn’t leave now."

He glanced at the clock and cursed under his breath. She was right – there was no time.

"I’ll look later," he muttered, stuffing the envelope into his bag.

"It’ll be fine," his dad said encouragingly. "Don’t overthink it."

"Yeah," Miriam chimed in, her tone almost too cheerful. "You’ll do great. Trust me."Something about the way she said it made him uneasy, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Grabbing his bag, he hurried out the door.

Here’s the translation:

On the bus, it was the same as always: loud, crowded, and stuffy. He squeezed through the crowd and found an empty seat in the back row. His backpack rested on his lap, and the brown envelope seemed to stare at him accusingly.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Should he open it now? If the photo was embarrassing—and he was almost certain Miriam had chosen something that would make him a laughingstock—at least he could try to hide it or swap it out.

He ran his fingers along the edge of the envelope, his heart pounding faster. But then he let it go and stared at the other students on the bus.

What if someone saw it? Or worse: what if someone snatched the envelope from him and loudly revealed what was inside? The thought made him flinch. He could already see their faces in his mind, the mocking laughter, the teasing comments.

“Hey, show us! What kind of picture is that?” – “Oh man, look at that! How embarrassing!”

No, the risk was too high.

He pressed the envelope tightly against his backpack and let his gaze wander through the bus. Several groups of students were scattered around. The older, louder ones sat in the very back, throwing a ball over the seats to each other. A girl giggled shrilly as a boy next to her tugged on her hair.

Further up, a few students from his own class sat together, though he hardly talked to them. They were immersed in their own conversations, probably about the weekend or the latest memes.

At the very front near the driver were the younger students. They looked nervous, as if it were their first time riding the bus to school. Their backpacks seemed far too big for their narrow shoulders, and they clung to the poles as if the bus might swallow them whole if they let go.

It was always like this somehow: groups that were clearly separated from one another. And him? He didn’t belong to any of them. He was somewhere in between, invisible, which was sometimes a blessing—but sometimes not.

He reached for the envelope again. Maybe he could open it discreetly if no one was watching. But his gaze shifted back to the students around him. The group from his class had grown louder; one of them had pulled out a phone and was showing a video that made the others burst into laughter.

He slumped lower in his seat, clutching the envelope tightly. No, that wasn’t a good idea. It would be even more humiliating if someone caught him at that moment, sneaking a look at an embarrassing photo.

“Just wait until you get to school,” he whispered to himself. “No one will see it there if you’re careful.”

But the uncertainty kept gnawing at him. What had Miriam picked out? Had she taken him seriously? Or had she deliberately chosen something to humiliate him in front of the class?

His hands grew sweaty as he clutched the envelope tighter, trying not to think about the stares he might face when he had to show the photo to the entire class.