“It’s hard.”
“Then put it in the soup.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It tastes fine.”
Hannah pushed the bread away.
“You always buy the cheapest things.”
Pieter, Claudia’s husband, looked up from his plate.
“Hannah.”
“It’s true.”
Greta placed the ladle back into the pot.
“There’s nothing wrong with buying what you need.”
“You never buy what you want.”
“How would you know?”
Hannah hesitated.
Greta looked at her.
“Do you know what I want?”
Hannah did not answer.
Her grandmother continued serving lunch.
Claudia changed the subject.
But later that afternoon, while Hannah was helping clear the table, Greta asked her to stay behind.
They were alone in the kitchen.
The window was open slightly, letting in the distant sound of a tram.
Greta placed two cups in the cupboard.
“You think I’m a miserable old woman.”
Hannah looked uncomfortable.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’ve said enough similar things.”
Hannah folded a dishcloth.
“You’re always telling people not to spend money.”
“Because people often spend more than they realise.”
“You make everything about money.”
Greta leaned against the counter.
“Money affects more things than you think.”
“I know.”
“No, Hannah. You know what things cost when someone else is paying.”
Hannah bristled.
“That’s not fair.”
“Perhaps not.”
“You’re acting like I’m spoiled.”
Greta considered this.
“I think you’re fortunate. There’s a difference.”
Hannah looked away.
Greta softened her voice.
“One day, I hope you’ll understand why I worry about waste.”
Hannah gave a short laugh.
“Why does everyone say I’ll understand things when I’m older?”
“Because sometimes you will.”
“And sometimes adults are just wrong.”
Greta smiled faintly.
“That’s also true.”
But Hannah was already angry.
She picked up her jacket.
“I have to go.”
Greta nodded.
“All right.”
At the door, Hannah turned.
“Maybe you should buy something nice for yourself for once.”
Greta looked at her.
“Perhaps I already have.”
Hannah frowned.
“What?”
Her grandmother smiled.
“Go on. Your mother’s waiting.”
Hannah left.
She thought the answer was another example of Greta’s irritating habit of speaking in riddles.
She never asked what it meant.
The first time Hannah visited Vienna alone, she was sixteen.
Her school had organised a two-day trip that included museums, the university district, and a visit to a private design academy where students presented work in graphic design, illustration, and visual communication.
Hannah had been drawing since childhood.
She filled sketchbooks with streets, faces, shopfronts, and imagined interiors.
She designed posters for school events and spent evenings learning digital illustration using a secondhand drawing tablet.
Her teachers considered her talented.
Hannah considered herself insufficiently talented.
She compared her work with artists she followed online and found endless reasons to be dissatisfied.
The academy changed something.
Students displayed projects that combined drawing, typography, photography, and storytelling.
They discussed practical briefs, criticism, deadlines, and the commercial realities of creative work.
Hannah stood before a series of illustrated book covers for nearly twenty minutes.
A student noticed her interest.
“Are you thinking of applying?”
Hannah nodded.
“Maybe.”
The student showed her a portfolio.
They spoke about drawing from observation, developing concepts, and revising work after feedback.
Hannah asked dozens of questions.
On the train home, she opened the academy’s website.
The programme lasted four years.
Its fees were substantial.
Vienna itself was expensive compared with living at home.
But Hannah had found something she wanted badly enough to frighten her.
She began preparing a portfolio that winter.
She stayed after school to use the art room.
She worked weekends at a bookshop.
She saved for better drawing materials.
She accepted criticism from teachers who had previously seemed too demanding.
Her parents encouraged her, though Pieter repeatedly suggested that she consider more affordable public options as well.
Austria offered public higher-education routes that could cost much less for eligible students. The private academy, however, had a particular course structure, industry projects, and teaching approach that appealed strongly to Hannah.
Her father was not opposed to her ambition.
He was opposed to pretending money did not matter.
“You can apply,” he said. “But we need a realistic plan.”
Hannah nodded.
She had already learned to avoid the word dream in conversations about money.
It made practical objections sound cruel, even when they were reasonable.
She preferred talking about portfolios, scholarships, internships, and employment prospects.
Still, she applied to the academy.
And she hoped.
Greta learned about the application during Christmas lunch.
Hannah was discussing portfolio requirements when her grandmother interrupted.
“Vienna?”
“Yes.”
“Why Vienna?”
“Because the academy’s there.”
“Couldn’t you study here?”
“Not the same course.”
Greta looked at Pieter.
“Would she live there?”
“Probably in student housing or a shared flat.”
Greta frowned.
“That costs money.”
Hannah put down her fork.
“Grandma, please.”
“I’m only asking.”
“You always ask about money.”
“Someone should.”
Pieter cleared his throat.
“We’re looking at the numbers.”
Greta studied her granddaughter.
“Is this what you really want?”
Hannah hesitated.
The question was different from the usual interrogation about costs.
“Yes.”
“Not because your friends are going?”
“No.”
“Not because Vienna sounds exciting?”
“No.”
Greta nodded.
“Then show me.”
Hannah looked confused.
“Show you what?”
“Your drawings.”
Hannah had not expected that.
Greta rarely asked about her work beyond whether school was going well.
But the following Saturday, Hannah brought her portfolio to the apartment.
They sat at the kitchen table while Greta examined each page.
There were illustrations of old buildings.
Portraits of strangers on trams.
A series of posters inspired by Austrian folk tales.
A visual story about a girl who lived in a city where every street changed location overnight.
Greta studied the drawings slowly.
She did not offer compliments immediately.
When she reached an illustration of a woman standing beneath a railway station clock, she paused.
“Why is she looking away?”
Hannah leaned closer.
“She’s waiting for someone who isn’t coming.”
