"I, Jakub Kowalski, being of sound mind and body, hereby declare this to be my last will and testament. All my property, movable and immovable, I leave to my sole heir, my grandson Mateusz Kowalski..."

Mateusz's fingers tightened around the document as his gaze shifted from the densely written will to the frost-covered train window.

The will. Mateusz looked back down at it in his palms. He'd never read one before - and then, a week ago, when he was checking his mailbox for anything besides flyers for shitty fast food joints or credit card bills, his fingers brushed against a thick, long envelope. Perfectly white, high-quality paper, with the inscription "Law Offices of Piotr & Sons" and the recipient - "Mateusz Kowalski."

He'd ripped it open right there in the hallway, curiosity and a prickle of anxiety winning out. His grandfather, Jakub, had passed away.

Mateusz folded the already frayed letter, tucked it back into the torn envelope, and shoved it into his backpack.

Jakub Kowalski.

...The house always smelled faintly of medicine, a thin layer of dust warmed by the sun, and his grandfather's outdated cologne with its woody, amber undertones. Only his grandpa, or his equally elderly friends, wore that kind of cologne; little Mateusz figured that out fast because no one on the street, at the grocery store, or shopping for clothes ever smelled like his grandpa. Some sweet lady at the checkout counter once told his grandpa his cologne “brought back memories.” Jakub had just grunted, "Someone's gotta smell like an old wreck." But Mateusz had seen the corners of his mouth twitch - he knew his grandpa liked smelling like a memory.

The dust hadn’t always been there. It appeared after Babcia Ida passed away. Babcia Ida - short, plump, her gray hair always in a neat braid, her blue dress worn with little white flowers. Mateusz remembered her hands - thick fingers, always dry and warm. Small brown age spots dotted her skin; blue veins popped just beneath the surface. They were hands that had scrubbed floors, baked bread, stitched torn seams, hands marked by a life of labor. But to him? They were gentler than velvet when she hugged him, patted his head, or packed his schoolbag. She smelled of soap - and on holidays, peony perfume. Now, her smell was a memory too.

She had passed quietly in her sleep. Heart stopped. Young Mateusz couldn’t recall the funeral clearly - a sea of people in black, Aunt Zofia’s wailing sobs, his grandfather’s pale face streaked with tears he kept wiping away with his hand. He hadn’t understood death back then. He only got it later, when his and his grandpa's life started flowing without babcia in it. Dust settled where her hands used to clean. The peony perfume was gone. The TV soap opera she watched every afternoon went silent. Grandpa's hair got grayer, the wrinkles around his eyes deeper.

Jakub Kowalski was a retired professor of chemistry. In his leisure time? He loved chess games in the courtyard with his friends, accompanied by cups of coffee. Mateusz remembered how the teachers at his school would widen their eyes upon hearing his last name: "Oh, the grandson of that Kowalski?" He would nod proudly, basking in the reflected glory of his grandfather’s legacy, while the old man himself would chuckle at his antics. Jakub had dedicated his life to science - a passionate lecturer at the local institute, the pride of the faculty. His face always adorned the honor board. His mind remained sharp even in old age, and with his fiery conviction, he pushed Mateusz to follow in his footsteps. He saw potential in his grandson, a chance to carry on the family’s legacy of scholarly achievement. It mattered to him deeply.

Mateusz enrolled in the same institute where his grandfather had once taught. But he felt... out of place. To everyone, he wasn’t Mateusz Kowalski, just another carefree student. To them, he was the legacy of his grandfather. At first, the expectations were a mild discomfort. Over time, they became suffocating. Every class felt like walking a tightrope, with forces tugging at him from all directions. He saw how much his academic success meant to his grandfather, how he pinned all his hopes on him. Mateusz tried. But eventually, the rope beneath him grew too thin to hold his staggering steps. New subjects became increasingly difficult, and he started to fall behind. The carefree student life morphed into an endless grind of cramming, until Mateusz simply... gave up. He grew angry, desperate to break free from the shadow of his grandfather’s legacy. He started skipping classes, partying into the early hours, showing up to lectures late, hungover - or not showing up at all. Jakub’s disappointment arrived in person one night after news reached him of Mateusz stumbling drunk into an exam room.

"How could you?! I had to go to the institute myself and beg them not to expel you! How could you show up drunk to an exam, Mateusz?!" His grandfather’s face was contorted in fury as he clutched a folded chess set, alternately placing it on the table and snatching it back into his hands.

"Because I'm sick of it! Sick of the endless 'blah blah blah, Jakub's boy is throwing his talent away...' I just want... to be! You know? Not drown in your fucking useless legacy!"

Jakub froze. The hand clutching the chess set trembled slightly.

"Useless legacy?" he repeated. "And by 'be' you mean be a drunk idiot?! That's what you want to be? You're a disgrace!"

Mateusz left home that night. Dropped out of the institute, ditched his grandpa, ditched his city, where everything felt suffocating. He just needed to get the fuck out. Anywhere. Become ‘himself.’ He packed his stuff, got on the first train, and left Lublin.

He hadn't gone back in five years. Hadn't even called or written to his grandpa. When the anger and disappointment faded a little, he didn't know how to go back. What could he say? Sorry for breaking your heart because I was a dumbass teenager who couldn't handle the pressure? Sorry I fucked up my bright future and your name because I wanted to get drunk and have fun instead of studying chemistry? God, it was a fucking hole he'd dug himself into. Deep down, he didn't even know if his grandpa would want to see him.

And now, he was dead.

Mateusz, without realizing it, put his hand on his chest, where people's souls are supposed to be, because how else could he explain this sudden pain, like a rubber band snapping against his heart, with sharp flicks?

So that's what it feels like when your soul aches.

---

The Lublin train station greeted him with the familiar hustle and bustle of people rushing, the smell of burnt coffee from the nearby vending machine, and the periodic announcements of departing trains. He adjusted the backpack on his shoulders and strode towards the exit, maneuvering through the flow of passengers.

The city hit him with its motion. He caught himself awkwardly stopping, watching the place where he was born and lived most of his life rushing past him like a blurry landscape, like you're sitting in a carousel seat and trying not to puke your guts out from how the smeared colors turn everything around you into a goddamn potpourri.

Mateusz felt like an extra who’d forgotten his choreography in a dance scene - standing awkwardly in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everything was so familiar, yet not. Like the universe had shuffled itself a few degrees out of alignment whenever he wasn’t looking. The city had moved on without him, leaving him stranded in this uncanny in-between where nothing was quite as it used to be.

Mateusz got off at his stop, pulled a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, and lit up. The gloomy sun peeked out from behind the clouds, lighting up the street of his childhood. The pharmacy on the corner, where the nice lady with bright red hair worked, and where babcia used to buy him candy-flavored vitamins, was closed. A stylish little cafe, serving "artisanal pastries," if you could believe the sign, was now in its place. The old five-story building across the street didn't look like itself anymore – it had been repainted and renovated, giving it a fresher look. It was like staring at one of those "spot the difference" puzzles where everything felt off-kilter.

He finally forced himself to walk, turning towards his grandpa's house. Out of habit, passing by the small passage between two buildings, he turned his head, expecting to see the two stray cats that old womens living there used to feed – there were always two fish cans by the wall where caring people would put food or pour milk for them. But now it was empty, the old graffiti painted over, the cats and cans gone.

The guy walked through the archway into his building's courtyard and, crunching snow under his boots, headed for the right entrance. The wooden table with its twin benches - where his grandfather and friends had played chess for hours, puffing on cheap cigarettes - had been replaced by bright yellow swing sets. The old, homemade flowerbed where the lonely woman from the next doorway used to plant flowers every summer – tulips and marigolds – had been replaced by a perfect patch of lawn. New and clean, erasing the old memory like an eraser.

Mateusz fumbled in his coat pocket, fingers stiff from the cold wind, for his keys, and finally went inside. The walls of the entrance, once painted a shabby blue, had been repainted, the old mailboxes replaced with new ones, the dim yellow light bulbs replaced with bright white ones. The guy felt like he was sleepwalking – was this really the place? But everything had become so different. He couldn't figure out what was out of place here now – him, or this whole...renovation?

Mateusz went up to the third floor. The letter from the notary had mentioned his grandfather renting out a room in their three-bedroom apartment. It made sense - space to spare, bills to pay. He didn't know whether he wanted to see his grandpa's tenant now or not, everything was already like a waking dream. Mateusz brushed the snow off his feet, stamping them on the floor a couple of times, and finally walked home.

A sharp exhale left him as he realized he'd been holding his breath. The wallpaper was still there - cream-colored with faded violet flowers - though now its sun-bleached hue seemed even duller. A black scuff mark still marred one section of the wall near the doorframe, a ghostly remnant from when he’d parked his bike there as a teenager. But little changes were everywhere: the worn braided rug had been replaced with a sleek modern mat. His grandfather’s heavy wool coat still hung on the wall hook beside an outdated fur hat, with a polished wooden cane propped neatly below them.

Was Granddad struggling to walk those last few years?

He unlaced his Doc Martens, setting them aside before stepping further inside. The kitchen gleamed with upgrades: a shiny new microwave perched above the ancient stove, while the wall that used to hold a family photo - Mateusz flanked by his grandparents at a zoo - was now empty.

Hah.

And...the smell was gone. It didn't smell of amber and wood, cheap instant coffee, and the strong cigarettes Grandpa used to buy at the kiosk on the corner. Mateusz wasn't even sure if that kiosk still existed. He left the kitchen and went into the living room, picking up the chess set from the table covered with a patterned tablecloth. The lacquer on the wood was cracked, the small brass latch loose and covered with patina.

Something inside him flipped - a river rushing backwards, sediment stirred up into muddy chaos. He knew nothing could stay the same forever. But seeing how everything had changed here in this space of his memories - it stung in ways he hadn’t expected. It was like someone had rewritten his childhood while he wasn’t looking.

Hearing quiet footsteps behind him, Mateusz turned and saw a girl in the hallway – apparently, Grandpa's tenant. He cleared his throat, still clutching the chess set in his hands.

"Hi. I’m Mateusz, Jakub’s grandson. I got a letter about his will, so... I guess I own this place now." He let out a weak chuckle, more for himself than her benefit. "Nice to meet you?"