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Last Sunday my grandmother Rosa visited our house for lunch . After the meal she was sitting in the garden and telling me about her first year in the city . She was eighteen when she left her village on a slow train . Her sister was waving from the platform while Rosa was holding a small suitcase and a paper bag with bread . When she arrived , she did not know anyone in the neighbourhood . She was renting a room in a tall building near the factory where she was working six days a week . Every morning she was waking at five because the factory bell was ringing early . Other women were walking with her through foggy streets while men were opening shop shutters along the main road . Did she feel lonely at first ? She was feeling lonely , but she was not staying alone for long . A neighbour was inviting her for tea on her second evening in the city . While they were talking , Rosa was learning about markets , tram routes , and cheap cafes . The neighbour was speaking quickly , but Rosa was listening carefully and writing new words on a card . One winter day she was slipping on ice near the tram stop . A young man was helping her stand up and was carrying her bag to the clinic . He was not asking for anything , and they were meeting again by chance at the same stop two days later . They were talking every week after that . He was working in a print shop , and she was finishing shirts in the factory hall . Were they dating soon ? Rosa was laughing when she said they were walking in the park before spring arrived . She was saving coins in a tin box because she wanted independent life . Her wages were not high , but she was cooking simple meals and was not buying things she did not need . In summer they were visiting the river on Sundays . Friends were playing music while families were swimming near the shallow bank . Rosa was feeling that the city was becoming her home . After two years she was moving to a larger flat with her sister . They were painting walls together while their mother was visiting from the village and was crying with joy . Grandmother was looking at the roses in our garden when she finished the story . I was sitting quietly because I did not want to interrupt the memory . She was saying that hard days were teaching patience and that kindness was appearing when she was not expecting it . I was hugging her before she was leaving , and I was thinking about the young woman on the foggy tram who was becoming the person I love today .
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