Humorous fiction. The crossword, events, Pai's thoughts and dialogue are invented; the illustration is stylized.
AI story illustration. Not a photograph of Pai, his family or their home.
Dilyara was doing a crossword. Mikhail was helping: confidently suggesting words that wouldn't fit the squares.
“Something that makes mornings nicer. Three letters,” Dilyara read aloud.
“Tea!” said Mikhail.
Pai raised his head.
A suspicious answer. Tea doesn't greet people, offer its head for a stroke, or do much at all except spend most of its life in a cupboard.
“Maybe ‘nap’?” Dilyara wondered.
Pai came closer. Naps were good too, but clearly not as good without Pai.
Mikhail looked at him and smiled:
“I think our consultant knows the answer.”
Pai rested his chin on Dilyara's knee. The hint was comprehensive.
“‘Pai,’” she said. “Exactly three letters.”
They still wrote “tea” in the crossword: the crossing words insisted.
Pai wasn't offended. He had already received his stroke and felt the official form could say whatever it liked. What mattered was that they had said the right answer out loud.
