A Door Reopens by Demetrios Bitsios

This is my first attempt at completing a project before beginning the course: "A Door Reopens" is a poignant short story set in 1977 Athens, weaving themes of family, reconciliation, and cultural prejudice. Vangelis, a man torn between tradition and his love for Hannah, his Ghanaian wife, confronts his father Alexis's deep-seated biases. When Alexis, once rigid and influenced by societal judgments, begins to see the unconditional love of his grandchildren, he experiences a transformative moment. Handing Vangelis the keys to the family cinema, Alexis takes a symbolic step toward healing, unity, and a new beginning.

Computer - Microsoft office, notebook, phone, google translate,

January 1977...

Athens wore its weariness plainly, the cracked streets and crumbling pavements shrouded in grey. Nikos found a table outside a kafenio across from the Metropolis Cathedral, nestling in a small courtyard. He waited for Vangelis, who worked at the central office on Adrianou Street, to join him for lunch.
Under the shade of white umbrellas, five priests in black robes sipped coffee silently, their worry beads clicking softly. An elderly woman paused to cross herself before kissing a priest’s hand. Nearby, two men hunched over a game of backgammon, grimly murmuring bad news. “Life has its hardships,” one said, shaking his dice. “And when bad things happen, Giorgo, they come without warning,” the other replied.
A wistful tune from a boy’s accordion threaded through the chatter of the kafenio, while his companions collected coins—sympathy from some, dismissive stares from others. The melancholic melody intertwined with the chaotic symphony of the city: blaring horns, lively chatter, and the occasional outburst from a passerby. Across the street, a taxi veered onto the curb, met with glares and waving arms. In its perpetual state of disorder, Athens was alive with its unmistakable rhythm.
Vangelis arrived, visibly agitated. “Mr. Papadopoulos is covering for me at the office—I can’t stay long,” he muttered, sliding into the chair across from Nikos. “His kids are with him.”
“What are kids doing there? Nikos asked,
“I have no idea,” Vangelis replied.
Nikos leaned back, sensing that Vangelis needed to vent. After a pause, Vangelis exhaled deeply. “My parents came over last night. Hannah thought it’d be a good idea. At first, everything seemed fine—they brought chocolates for the kids, made the usual small talk, and while my mother was helping Hannah in the kitchen, I decided to bring up the idea of reopening the cinema…”
“What did he say?” Nikos asked, genuinely curious. He knew Vangelis had long wanted to revive the family cinema, which had been closed for several years.
“He dismissed me outright,” Vangelis said bitterly. “It was a practical idea that would’ve helped all of us, including him, but he ignored it. Then he started ranting about the humiliation he’s under—because of Hannah and me, of course, and it got worse…”
Nikos shook his head in disbelief as Vangelis’s voice tightened with emotion. “He said he never imagined, not in a million years, that his grandchildren would be a different colour. How can a father say something like that, Niko?” His face flushed with anger, and he struck the table with his fist, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t take it. I threw his coat at him and told him to leave. My poor mother had to follow him out. Hannah was devastated, blaming herself. She doesn’t deserve this.”
Nikos nodded, memories surfacing of the countless evenings he and Vangelis had spent at the cinema in their youth. Back then, Vangelis worked as a projectionist, often staying late into the night, with Nikos keeping him company. Their friendship had been interrupted when Nikos’s family moved away, but they reconnected years later by chance, now working at the same company. By then, Vangelis had met Hannah, a Ghanaian woman, and they had two children, Alexandros and Maro.
Signaling the waiter, Vangelis turned to Nikos. “What are you drinking?”
Caught off guard, Nikos replied, “One Amstel.”
As the waiter brought their drinks, the atmosphere began to ease. Vangelis leaned back, pouring himself a glass of beer. “You know,” he started, a faint smile spreading across his face, “some of the best decisions I’ve made were the ones I didn’t overthink—like meeting Hannah. If I hadn’t boarded that Greek vessel, I never would’ve met her.”
Vangelis’s thoughts went back some years in 1969 when he spent a few years working on a Greek vessel transporting cocoa beans from Ghana. It was during this time, in Tema—a bustling port city—where he met Hannah amidst a backdrop of political and economic instability. The bar, a rundown building with scattered outdoor tables and a simple interior became the backdrop when Vangelis first laid eyes on her. He had been sitting quietly in a corner, engrossed in a book and sipping a strong beer, his forehead still dusted with cocoa powder from hours spent loading sacks onto the ship. She moved between the kitchen and the tables. Her natural afro framed her high cheekbones and bright eyes. For seven days, Vangelis returned to the bar, hoping to see her again, but she was nowhere to be found. Then, by chance, he spotted her aboard the same vessel working in the kitchens as a cook.
“Sometimes,” Vangelis said, snapping out of his thoughts, “you must leap before you feel ready. That’s where growth begins.” Nikos lifted his glass in a silent toast, his envy quietly brewing as he admired Vangelis’s courage to face life head-on.
As the clock struck two, Vangelis realized his lunch break had run over. He quickly touched Nikos’s shoulder, a gesture of friendship, before hurrying off to return to work.
Later that day…
Vangelis’s father, Alexis Vasileiou, aged 79 was a tall, slender man with a prominent Adam's apple that seemed to move with every word he spoke. Known for his sharp business instincts, Alexis had always placed high expectations on his son. At 49, his wife Maria only 42, welcomed Vangelis —a late and cherished addition to their lives. Before meeting Maria, Alexis had already built a career in the cinema industry. He and his brother started with a mobile cinema, travelling across Greece to screen films in different towns and villages. After his brother’s untimely death, Alexis dedicated himself to expanding their shared dream. He saved diligently, eventually owning his first cinema. Over the years, his efforts grew the business to include four cinemas. However, by the late 1960s, with the advent of home entertainment, Alexis was forced to close three of them. Despite these setbacks, he held onto the largest cinema, which boasted ample seating and a rooftop open-air theatre for summer screenings. Alexis worked tirelessly until his retirement, eventually shuttering the last cinema in the hope that Vangelis would one day reopen it and carry on the family legacy.
The morning after an uneasy evening with Vangelis and Hannah—an evening Alexis would rather erase—Maria sat beside him; her voice steady but gentle. “Alexis, it’s time to let go of your prejudices,” she began firmly. “It’s more than okay, you know.” She paused, searching his face. “Talk to Vangelis. Show him the kindness he deserves. He needs you—your approval, your love. You saw how they’re struggling in that tiny flat. And you should never have brought up the colour of his children. You know as well as I do that those children are better behaved than most, and their skin colour—or Hannah’s—makes no difference.”
Maria was not someone prone to prejudice or judgment based on someone’s appearance or background. She understood that biases were everywhere—whether rooted in wealth, ideology, religion, political beliefs, intelligence, or physical ability. As the glue that held the family together, Maria adored her grandchildren, admired her son’s resilience in facing these challenges, and thought the world of Hannah. The thought of her family fracturing over differences was unbearable to her. She felt drained by the situation and struggled to comprehend what was going on in Alexis’s mind. It pained her to see Alexis adopt sudden prejudices, seemingly to appease his sister and the extended family.
Her tone sharpened. “And stop letting your sister influence you. We both know where her priorities lie. This bias against people who look different—it isn’t yours to carry. It’s time to stand by Vangelis and Hannah. Start with the cinema. They need your help.”
Alexis said nothing, lost in thought as he rose and walked to the far side of the room, his back turned to her.
Maria watched her husband, her resolve unshaken, though her voice softened. “You owe them an apology, Alexis—for what you said about Hannah and the children. You know it and ignoring it won’t make it disappear.”
Alexis found it all so hard to reconcile. He had always seen Vangelis’s decision—marrying Hannah and starting a family—as a brave one, but it unsettled him. He worried about his son, about how Vangelis would cope with the harsh judgments and prejudices of others. He liked Hannah; he could see she brought love and stability into Vangelis’s life. But he couldn’t help feeling overly protective, fearful of the challenges his son might face.
Deep down, Alexis understood that the prejudices he harboured were not truly his—they had been planted by his sister and a few others in the extended family. At the same time, he couldn’t help but feel conflicted over Vangelis’s decision to marry Hannah, as it forced him to confront these biases and endure the judgment of others, which now seemed directed at him as well. Even so, a growing sense of shame began to take hold as he realized he had allowed himself to align with their narrow-minded views. In trying to avoid their disapproval, he had inadvertently become complicit, criticizing Vangelis’s choices instead of supporting him. The shame he felt was not because of his son or daughter-in-law, but because of his sister and those who clung stubbornly to outdated beliefs. As his thoughts turned to his grandchildren, Alexandros and Maro, a wave of regret and anger at himself surged within him.

Around the same time, Vangelis was making his way back to the central office on Adrianou Street. The mild buzz from the alcohol left him feeling slightly light-headed, though his conversation with Nikos had eased a weight he'd been carrying. The streets of Plaka hummed with activity. The rich scent of leather drifted from goods hanging outside shop entrances, blending with the sharp cries of vendors calling above the low hum of a crawling car. Nearby, a rack of imitation Greek gods, painted in pristine white, swayed unsteadily as a tourist haggled with determined fervour. As Vangelis arrived at the office, the sign overhead read:

PAPADOPOULOS AND KONSTANTINOU LIMITED PRINTING - OFFSET PRINTS RECEIPTS - INVOICES

Mr. Papadopoulos, a large man with sleek jet-black hair, thick-framed black glasses, and piercing eyes, stood behind the counter while his twin boys fidgeted restlessly beside him. “What time do you call this?” he barked, visibly irritated by Vangelis’s casual pace as he entered. “I need to get the boys to their swimming lessons!” he added, flailing his hands in frustration.

“Sorry… I didn’t realize how late it was,” Vangelis stammered.

Mr Papadopoulos stormed out, gripping his sons by the hands and ushering them into his brown Lancia Estate. He strapped them into the back seat with brisk efficiency, then hurried back into the office for a moment for something he had forgotten.
“Your dad called. He wants you to ring him back,” he muttered sharply as he returned, his tone clipped. With a swift flick of his head, he wiped the sweat from his face and made a sudden, sharp turn toward the car.

Vangelis couldn’t think what on earth his old man wanted especially so soon after yesterday’s quarrel. His father had never rung him before. He was always the one. Vangelis couldn’t ignore the gnawing suspicion—it wasn’t like his father to back down so easily. Just the night before, he had thrown his father out, believing this was the final break, the "last cut." He had sworn never to crawl back.

His hand trembled as he dialled the number but hung up halfway. Taking a steadying breath, he tried again and waited.

“Hello”- his father answered, his voice hoarse.

“Father, what is it?” Vangelis asked cautiously in a trembling voice.

“Your mother sends her apologies” he said clearing his throat.

“My mother doesn’t owe me an apology—you do,” Vangelis said firmly.

“I know, Vangelis. We need to talk... I’m sorry. We’re sorry.”

“Don’t say ‘we,’ Dad,” Vangelis interrupted, his tone hard.

“Can you stop by on your way home tonight, Vangelis?” his father asked. His voice softened, carrying an unfamiliar note of kindness—something Vangelis hadn’t heard since long before meeting Hannah.

Hannah spent the day in pieces, consumed by the fallout from yesterday’s confrontation between father and son. Deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all because of her. The last eight years of her life had felt like a strange contradiction—both unbearably long and fleetingly short. Time dragged through the struggles yet slipped by in a blur. From the moment she met Vangelis’s father, her life revolved around trying to keep Vangelis happy. But no matter how hard she tried, a sense of emotional distance always lingered between them. Vangelis was loving and attentive toward her and the children, always doing what seemed right for their family, yet his thoughts often wandered far away. She could see the strain in his face, the frustration etched into his demeanour, and she knew it stemmed from his relentless effort to earn his parents’ approval. Their prejudice baffled her; it felt unnecessary and deeply exhausting. Her interactions with his family had been few and far between, but they always felt hollow and superficial. Real issues were never addressed. Instead, conversations revolved around trivial matters—newspaper headlines, Auntie Martha’s gossip, a cousin’s wedding, or a family member’s passing. It was as though they were all pretending nothing was wrong, masking the unspoken tensions that loomed over them. Last night, Vangelis finally open and confronted the real source of his turmoil. She knew it wasn’t just about the cinema, hoping for some kind of apology or acknowledgement. Yesterday evening when Vangelis asked his father to leave, her first reaction was guilt. She couldn’t help but blame herself, wondering if she was the reason for the conflict. Without her, she thought, Vangelis might be running the cinema, still close to his family, and free from this quiet, suffocating struggle. She felt powerless, trapped in a web of guilt and self-doubt, as though everything was her fault.

Hannah had grown up in Accra, not far from Tema, in Ghana’s southern region. Her parents, originally from the northern part of the country, had moved to Accra in the late 1940s. Her father worked as a blacksmith, a trade that sustained the family. Hannah and her family lived in a compound house in James Town, sharing space with other families. Their small bungalow, like the others, opened onto a communal concrete courtyard. This shared space featured an outdoor kitchen with a corrugated roof and simple stone-walled toilet facilities. It also served as a gathering place for social events, from casual conversations to larger gatherings, including funerals. When Hannah was born, Ghana was still under British rule and had just appointed its first prime minister. By the time she reached secondary school, the country had gained independence. Hannah was fortunate to secure a spot in a teacher training college, a notable accomplishment at the time. However, upon graduating in the late 1960s, she faced a difficult job market. With few opportunities in Accra, Hannah moved to Tema in search of work. She found employment as an assistant cook, working in the kitchen of a modest portside bar and then managed to get a job on a Greek Vessel heading to Piraeus when she first noticed Vangelis. He was the one to strike up a conversation, asking her why she had chosen to work in the ship’s kitchen. “I saw you serving at the bar across the street, and now here you are. Are you joining us on board or just passing through?” he inquired. “My name’s Vangelis. What’s yours?” he added with a warm smile.
Vangelis spoke flawless English and had a kind demeanour. His curly brown hair, tall stature, prominent Adam’s apple, and gentle expression made him approachable. They began crossing paths frequently at the ship’s canteen, and their connection grew stronger with each encounter. Before long, the mutual attraction became undeniable, and one day, they finally gave in to their feelings.

Reluctantly, after work, Vangelis made his way to his parents’ home—a 20-minute walk from the office on Adrianou Street to the Dexameni area, nestled beneath the rugged, grey slopes of Lycabettus Hill. His parents lived in a penthouse on the fifth floor of a modern Polikatoikia – a block of flats. Once the house this had been Alexi’s family home, which was exchanged through an antiparochi agreement—a system of mutual exchange in which a landowner offers their plot to a developer for construction and, in return, receives one or more apartments in the newly built complex, depending on the size of the plot. Through this arrangement, Alexis and his sister Martha each received a flat.
It had been eight years since Vangelis had last set foot in his family home—one year before the birth of his eldest child, Alexandros. The apartment, with its two bathrooms, spacious kitchen, and four rooms, gleamed with polished luxury. Dark, heavy oak furniture and pristine marble floors spanned the space, yet to Vangelis, it felt cold, lacking any true warmth.
As the lift doors opened, Vangelis stepped out to find his parents waiting by the entrance to their front door. Without a moment’s hesitation, he walked straight into his mother’s arms. She held him tightly, tears streaming down her round cheeks. His father placed a trembling hand on his shoulder, his fingers shaking uncontrollably. Vangelis met his father’s gaze and felt his own eyes filling with tears. In an unexpected gesture, his father pulled him into a firm embrace, holding him close as his entire frame trembled with suppressed emotion. But the tears came, flowing freely as he whispered, his voice breaking, “I’m so sorry, Vangelis—for you and Hannah.”
Overwhelmed by the surge of emotions, Vangelis wandered through the flat before stepping onto the garden balcony at the back. Moments later, his father appeared, holding two glasses of beer. After a brief pause, Alexis turned and walked toward the hallway, where the key safe hung on the wall. He stretched his right arm and picked up a bunch of keys. The white tag and blue lettering read “Cinema Aliki” His mind raced with thoughts, a cacophony of doubt and regret. Maria’s words echoed in his mind—her strength and clarity were something he deeply admired, even envied.
Now, as the cool weight of the metal keys pressed into his palm, Alexis felt the enormity of the moment. It was time to let go of the burdens of the past, to put aside the divisions that had lingered for too long, and to embrace the family standing before him. With a measured yet deeply emotional gesture, he returned to the balcony and placed the keys into Vangelis’s hand, enclosing them between both of his own in a firm and silent affirmation. As his father pressed the keys into his hand, Vangelis felt a rush of emotions—gratitude, disbelief, and something rawer, closer to sadness. It wasn’t just the keys to a building; it was an apology, a bridge, and a hesitant step toward healing.
At that moment, Vangelis noticed something in his father he hadn’t seen in years. The warmth in his eyes and the relaxed tension in his posture spoke volumes, as though a heavy burden had finally been lifted.
“I should have done this years ago, Vangelis… If you have any questions about the business, don’t hesitate to ask,” his father said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “The place has been closed for a while, but the equipment, tills, and toilets are all in working order—I checked it myself today. It’s ready to reopen, but it won’t be easy. Film distributors take a big cut of your profits, and renewing the licenses could take up to three months. But I’m here to help you.”
Vangelis stood speechless, overwhelmed by the unexpected shift in his father’s demeanour. After a pause, his father looked down and added quietly, “I owe you an apology for last night.”
There was a moment of hesitation before he continued, “I’m not prejudiced… I like Hannah—don’t get me wrong. You made a brave choice, and it’s been hard for all of us, dealing with the harsh judgments and prejudices of others. But I’m ready to make a fresh start, and I promise I won’t support the narrow-mindedness of others any longer.”

“Father, you know the colour of children shouldn’t matter. There are my flesh and blood…”
Alexis stared at his hands, veins rising like old roots. When he spoke, his voice faltered, unsure and unsteady. “You have not shamed me; it was the weight of others’ judgment that had clouded my heart.”
“I’m not asking for your approval, Dad… just your acceptance. And maybe a little faith.” Vangelis concluded.
Maria, standing nearby, gently placed a hand on her husband’s back, her face radiating pride as she looked at him.
The buzz from the beers earlier in the day was nothing compared to the emotional whirlwind he felt now. He stood frozen, struggling to process the sudden shift in his father’s demeanour. One thing was certain—he would lean on his father’s support in the days ahead. After years of strained interactions, pretence, and unspoken grievances, the gesture felt monumental. It was as though the breakthrough they had reached the previous evening—when Vangelis had confronted his father and thrown him out—had opened a door to something he had longed for approval, generosity, and genuine connection. For the first time, he felt the weight of that longing start to ease.

Later, in the evening Vangelis headed home, down a long street, up some steps, and finally into the vibrant neighbourhood of Exarcheia where his home was. He couldn’t wait to share the news with Hannah. As he walked, he replayed different scenarios in his head, thinking about how to tell her. His thoughts raced, swirling with excitement and relief. He felt lighter, as though a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders—years of tension and unhappiness finally melting away. For the first time in a long while, Vangelis felt as though life was falling into place.
He mused, “Should I play it cool and tell her casually, or just go wild, whisk her off for some souvlaki and beers, and surprise her?”
As soon as he arrived home, he couldn’t contain his excitement any longer. He pulled the keys from his pocket and playfully tossed them in the air, proudly showing them off to Hannah. “What’s this?” she asked, curious. Smiling, he gently placed the keys in her hand and said, “Look… look,” while pointing to the label. Hannah glanced down at her palm and saw the white tag with "Cinema Aliki" printed in blue. Hannah didn’t believe it at first. But then her face lit up, her radiant smile growing even brighter as the realization hit her. She let out a joyful cry as Vangelis lifted her high into the air, both laughing with pure happiness.

“And my parents have invited us for dinner tomorrow night,” he added. Hannah froze for a moment. She had never been invited to their home before, never seen the place Vangelis had described as a cold yet luxurious penthouse that felt more like a museum than a home. But now, the invitation symbolized something much greater—a long-awaited acceptance. Hannah was filled with utter happiness seeing their son and father back together. She felt a huge weight lifted off her shoulders.

Vangelis struggled to fall asleep, his thoughts circling back to his parent's home and the unexpected generosity his father had shown. He reflected on how much love his father had suppressed over the years, buried under prejudices that weren’t even truly his own. Memories began to surface—arriving in Piraeus with Hannah, back into his dingy little flat in Kallithea, and the day his parents first met Hannah while she was pregnant with their first child. At first, his parents seemed pleased to meet her, though his father remained somewhat reserved. But when his Aunty Martha met Hannah, everything changed. Her harsh words rang in his ears: “What have you done to your poor parents, bringing a pregnant African girl into the family?” She couldn’t even accept that the baby was Vangelis’s, completely dismissing the truth in her denial.

As he lay in bed, he turned his gaze to Hannah beside him. For the first time, he felt a deep sense of happiness and contentment. The wooden roll blind shutters weren’t fully closed, and the headlights from passing cars cast shifting patterns on the ceiling, creating a quiet, almost hypnotic effect.

The next morning…
As the soft morning light replaced the flickering beams of car headlamps on the ceiling, Hannah was already awake, tending to the children and starting the day. After breakfast, Vangelis, Hannah, and the kids set off for the bus stop. The winter sun carried an unexpected warmth, hinting at the early arrival of spring. Their destination was Ilisia, a neighbouring district in eastern Athens, where Cinema Aliki awaited.
The sight of the cinema stirred a deep nostalgia in Vangelis. The grand marble steps, flanked by imposing pillars, sparked vivid memories—days spent assisting his father in the ticket office, working behind the bar, and mastering the trade in the projection room upstairs. As the family climbed the steps and entered the building, they passed through the lounge and café bar area, their footsteps echoing in the quiet space.
Beyond a doorway lay the heart of the cinema—a theatre with 350 seats neatly arranged before a large screen at the far end. The children, unable to contain their excitement, darted up and down the aisles, their laughter bouncing off the walls. Their playful giggles breathed life into the still, space, filling it with a sense of anticipation and joy. It was as if the theatre, silent for so long, had been waiting for this moment.
The dimly lit interior, with its air of quiet stillness, seemed to reflect the years of unspoken words and strained family relationships. Yet, as sunlight spilt through the entrance, it brought warmth and vitality back into the room, pushing away the lingering shadows of the past.
Hannah and Vangelis exchanged a glance, their faces a mix of hope and apprehension. To them, the cinema was more than just a business—it was a symbol of renewal, a chance to rebuild not only their future but also their bond with Alexis and Maria.
An unspoken question hung between them:
“What’s the next step?”
At 7 PM, they reached the Dexameni area and made their way to Vangelis's parents' home. As the elevator doors slid open, they stepped out to find his parents waiting warmly at the entrance. The moment Alexis spotted his grandchildren, his face lit up with an uncontainable joy. Overcome with excitement, he bent down, arms outstretched and lifted the young girl high into the air. Her delighted squeal dissolved years of tension. She giggled, tugging at the loose threads on his sweater, completely unaware of the emotional struggle her grandfather was facing. To her, there was no pride, regret, or judgment—just love. To her, he was simply Papou, her granddad, a source of warmth and security.
In that instant, Alexis felt something he hadn’t in years: a raw, unfiltered connection. It was a moment of clarity—a realization that the future wasn’t about holding onto past grievances but embracing the love and happiness standing right before him.
Lowering her gently to the ground, Alexis turned to the boy, who eagerly demanded his turn. With a chuckle, he scooped him up just as high, the boy’s laughter echoing joyfully. When the girl tried to claim another turn, Vangelis stepped in, gently but firmly seating her as he grinned. “No, no, it’s my turn now,” he teased playfully. Both children, giggling, then reached out to hold onto their grandmother’s hands.
As Hannah watched the family gathered around the table, the meal spread out before them, Maria’s laughter rang through the room, echoed by the children’s giggles. Alexandros and Maro were bundles of unrestrained energy, their laughter filling spaces that once felt heavy with silence. Without realizing it, they had become the bridge between generations—innocent and free of the prejudices and misunderstandings that had once created divides. They saw no boundaries, no differences—only grandparents who adored them and a family striving to reconnect, even as the echoes of past tensions lingered.
Hannah’s eyes rested on Alexis’s beaming face as Vangelis spoke with him, his arms gesturing with enthusiasm. A quiet hope began to bloom within her. This is how healing begins… a door reopens.