The old woman called me, so I followed her to her single room, because I didn't know what she wanted. I felt her bent back as she tried to enter her room lightly. She pointed to me with a weak whisper, "Please come in, professor, please." I stopped at the door, thinking she might have changed her mind, but she leaned a bit, saying, "Please come in, professor, my son." I stepped in without thinking and found myself alone for a few moments in the dampness of her room.

I heard her struggling breath behind me, straining to enter the room and I remained standing. She said with a joy I had never seen in her life, "Please, sit my son, you honor us." I wiped my eyes from the dampness of the walls and stopped at the sight of the mold, the mold that was similar to the one on my bathroom wall, and I remembered her husband's departure. She said, "You honor us, my son, a precious step."

It was as if I understood why she asked for me, and as if she forgot that, I stood my ground, "I will get someone to treat the dampness, right away, Hajjah, right away." She said, "Sit down, my son, please. I don't feel the cold or the dampness now, just have a cup of tea." I said, "I'll bring the man and I'll come back." She looked inside me with a sadness that nailed me to the ground. I took quick sips, leaving half a cup, I exited the door and the room's humidity stinging my bones.

I saw her holding the tea cup between her trembling hands and watching me, "Come back quickly, my son, come back quickly." I said unconsciously, "Yes, mother, yes." The cup fell from her hands, so I rushed to her.

She was crying with joy, running towards me, holding my hand, and I was embracing her, comforting her while she was whispering warmly, "Relax, my son, relax." I led her back into the room, settled her on the bed and made delicious tea which she liked, and she showed me all the pictures that she keeps in a plastic bag. She told me the story of each picture, she smiled, laughed, and yearned for warm days, then she melted into a beautiful slumber.