Lala Sadly Recalls Memories of Kien’s House When It Was Rebuilt

Lala stood quietly across the road, her eyes fixed on the place that used to feel like home — Kien’s house. Or rather, what used to be Kien’s house. Now, in its place, stood a brand new building: shiny, modern, and unfamiliar. The sounds of construction had long faded, but the silence that replaced them was even louder for Lala. She was no longer a small puppy, but those memories — the love, the laughter, the warmth — they came rushing back as if it were just yesterday.

Kien’s house had once been a humble wooden home nestled under a canopy of fruit trees. The scent of ripe mangoes and guavas often filled the air in the summer, and the old steps creaked with every joyful run she took toward the front door. That door no longer existed. Instead, a smooth, stainless steel gate reflected Lala’s image back at her — older, more thoughtful, and filled with a strange kind of emptiness.

She took a few slow steps closer, sniffing the air. It didn’t smell like Kien’s house anymore. No trace of the familiar kitchen smells where Kien used to cook her favorite rice and chicken mix. No dusty corners where she would curl up during rainstorms. And no old doormat where she would wait patiently for Kien to return from work, her tail wagging like a flag of joy.

Lala sat down and stared at the gate, her mind drifting deep into memory.

She remembered the day Kien brought her home. It was raining that day, and she was nothing more than a shivering, muddy bundle. Kien had spotted her beside a trash bin and carried her home in his jacket. He dried her off gently, fed her warm broth, and gave her a name — Lala.

It was in that house that she learned to bark, to play, and to love.

There were so many moments — some funny, some heartwarming — that now felt like pages torn from an old book. Like the time she chewed up Kien’s favorite shoes and tried to hide them under the couch, thinking he wouldn’t notice. Or the time she jumped into the laundry basket and fell asleep, only to be discovered hours later by a very confused Kien. Or how every morning, she would bark exactly three times outside his bedroom door, just to wake him up.

Kien always said that house was more than walls and wood — it was a place where souls connected. And he meant it. That little house had welcomed neighbors, sheltered friends, and witnessed countless celebrations. Lala remembered birthday parties where children would chase her around the yard, laughing and feeding her bits of cake. She remembered holidays when Kien would hang colorful lights and sing old songs with his family.

When the news came that Kien’s house would be demolished and rebuilt, Lala didn’t understand. She watched as the walls were taken down, one by one. The kitchen — gone. The hallway where she once ran laps — gone. Her favorite sunlit window — replaced by a blank, modern wall.

It wasn’t just the house that changed. Kien changed too. He became busier, more focused on the plans, the design, the construction meetings. He was still kind, still loving, but he didn’t sit down as often anymore. He didn’t tell Lala bedtime stories like he used to. She could see the stress on his face, the weight of responsibility that came with building something new.

And now that the new house was done, everything looked perfect — but it didn’t feel like home.

Lala let out a small sigh as she lay down on the sidewalk. A few of the neighbors walked by and gave her gentle pats, recognizing the loyal little dog who had once been queen of that yard. But no one lingered. The house had changed, and so had the rhythm of life around it.

Suddenly, the new gate buzzed and slowly opened. Out stepped Kien. He was holding something in his hands — a small blanket, frayed at the edges. Lala’s blanket.

She lifted her head and tilted it, puzzled.

Kien smiled softly and crouched down in front of her. “Lala,” he whispered, “I kept this for you. You remember it?”

The moment her nose touched the fabric, everything came flooding back. The smell of the old house, the warmth of their living room, the quiet nights when she’d curl up at his feet. Her tail began to wag slowly, then faster. She licked Kien’s hand and let out a low, emotional whimper.

Kien looked at the house and then at her. “It’s not the same, is it? I miss it too.”

He stood up and motioned her to follow. With hesitation at first, then more confidently, Lala stepped through the new gate. The yard was paved now, no more soft grass under her paws. But Kien had placed a small patch of lawn in the corner — just for her. Her old water bowl was there too, clean and waiting.

Inside, the layout was unfamiliar, but something smelled like chicken. Kien had cooked again — just like old times.

He led her to a corner of the living room where a new dog bed sat, but next to it was the old blanket, folded neatly. Lala stepped onto it and lay down. It didn’t matter that the walls were different, or that the tiles shone where once there were floorboards. What mattered was that Kien was there, and he still remembered.

As she lay there, her eyes half-closed in comfort, Lala realized something important. Memories live in our hearts, not in bricks or walls. The house had changed, but her bond with Kien had not. The laughter, the warmth, the love — it was still there, just waiting for her to come inside.

Lala looked up at Kien one last time before dozing off. He smiled and stroked her head gently.

“Welcome home, Lala,” he said softly.

And this time, it really did feel like home again.