Loris

rly 70s when Loris, the only daughter of a prominent textile merchant, was in the heart of it all: gala dinners, concert halls and long tanning days on the Riviera. Years turned into decades; Loris's childhood friends and numerous young suitors became grandparents. Gazing at the lifeless garden of her old house, their wrinkled eyes lit up with a lively spark as they remember her radiant smile, her perfect French accent, and, above all, her unmatched cooking skills. Some say that she married a wealthy furniture trader and moved with him to Africa, others that she enrolled in a French sorority that shelters and cooks meals for the poor. Needless to say, all of them stood in utter disbelief when, on a breezy winter day of 2015, they woke up to find her deserted ghost house bustling with life again. Fresh paint adorned its walls and columns, while a new set of tables and chairs spread across the garden. And standing there, at the front door, as a radiant as ever, her smile barely tamed by the years, a whimsical Loris waves and calls at them:

“Ahla w Sahla!