Do you love him?

I dreamed of having the courage to talk to grandma, asking how she's doing after grandpa left her. As usual, she sat there at her favorite spot: not so close from the TV, so her eyes won't hurt; not so far from the door, so she could see who's coming over; and not too away from her room, so she could come in when it's  time to pray. 

She was silent for a moment. She stared at the door, where grandpa would usually come from: buying her food; fishing from the pond next to my house; repairing the next-door kindergarten's playground; or just going out without letting grandma know. He did many different stuff within a day, but he would come home at the end of the day, bringing  the same typical plastic bags filled with food or with the same dirty-sweaty clothes he would wash himself.

"We had an arranged marriage," she answered, finally. "I was eighteen or nineteen. I had your mother when I was twenty. This house was built without windows. It wasn't here." She pointed at a gigantic wardrobe by the aisle. "This too," she continued, pointing at another cupboard. "Where were you back then?" she chuckled. 

"Do you love him?" Another question that I dreamed of asking her. 

She dazed, as if I spoke in a foreign language that she couldn't understand. Her lips trembled, as if her words were too precious to make it into the air. She burst into tears within a second. 

I stroked her knee gently. 

"Your aunt can have this." Again, it's about the cupboard. "I have some clothes for you, and your sister. And oh.. get my purse. Here.. your allowance." Then she was busy counting her pennies while apologizing for not being able to give me more than a couple thousands.  

I realized I asked a stupid question.

The word 'love' sounds strange for her. She probably never heard of grandpa saying 'I love you'. Saying out loud the word 'love' irritates her, just as how it does to me. 

I kept the pennies she handed me, I said thanks and left her there, at her favorite spot.