Her grandfather was a simple man, a minimalist.
Minimal furniture meant minimal places to sit, which meant minimal guests. Minimal guests meant minimal noise and mess. He kept what was functional and said what was necessary. His books came from the library so they could be returned and didn’t take up space.
When he died, she cleared out his house and found the only thing the minimalist had kept. A small, red box hidden inside the hollowed-out seat of his chair contained a photograph of her young grandfather standing in a colourful, cluttered room next to a beautifully messy woman.