The sun had gotten ready to go back to its royal bed. The orange tinged matched the pink sakura blossoming on the backyard of Nishikido’s old house. The night was on its way to come, but the bustle in that all-wooden-made house had just begun. Today was Grandfather Takeshi’s death anniversary. He died in an accident three years ago. I, the only son of Soujiro Nishikido, the only third generation of Nishikido family who has moved to Jakarta, didn’t attend this anniversary last year.
 
“Ryo, what are you doing outside? Come in, help us here!” Mommy called from the living room.
 
I moved in. Because it was only to be attended by family, not plenty of people would come. Grandfather Takeshi has no relatives in Jakarta. His relatives lived in Kyoto. I predicted they who would come are relatives of Grandmother Arina and Mommy. As much as I knew, the only relative of Grandfather Takeshi who would come is Grandfather Kazuto, Grandfather Takeshi’s younger brother.
 
I approached Mommy who was in the kitchen. She handed me a big tray full of plates.
 
“Bring this to living room. Go chatting with the relatives, don’t separate yourself again.” She commanded.
 
I fulfilled her command with heavy heart. Were I allowed to do things on my own, I’d like to sit on the backyard watching sakura more than chewing the fat with them. Interacting with those people would make me envious seeing the warmth between them. The warmth I had never really had.
 
 
Being the only heir of all Nishikido’s assets was not always