Grandparents' warmth was only a story told by others.
On the mother's side, both parents had passed away long before birth. On the father's side, the grandfather was also gone before birth, and the grandmother followed within the first year, too soon for memories to form.
Family was still never empty. Both mother and father came from large households, with nearly seven siblings each. Uncles, aunts, and cousins filled festivals with noise, travel, and chatter. Even without grandparents, love found its way through countless voices.
Around the first birthday, a tiny friendship began. Across the narrow gap between two company apartment balconies, another toddler often appeared: same age, same bright curiosity. Her name was Ira. Both fathers worked in the same office, and the two families quickly grew familiar as giggles and baby talk passed through the railings.
That balcony bond held steady, growing quietly stronger through seasons. Years later, the two would still call each other closest friends, proof that some ties start long before words.
By age two, the father's plans for education were already taking shape. Sturdy encyclopaedias lined a low shelf, a silent promise for the future.
Kindergarten followed. First came a small preschool, while Ira remained at home a little longer. After a year, Ira joined too, and the father decided on one more year in the same place so both children could grow side by side, building a stronger base before formal school.
Two full years passed in bright rooms of songs, picture books, and chalk drawings. By the time school finally began, age barely 4, the path already felt a little long with steady steps with a friend close by.