
When a grouchy old man slams the door on a persistent teen, he thinks he’s rid of her for good. But when a hurricane traps them together, the storm outside reveals the truth about her shocking connection to his past.
Frank had lived alone for many years. The quiet suited him, and he’d long accepted the absence of friends or family in his life. So, when he heard a knock at the door one Saturday morning, he was startled but more annoyed than curious.

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With a heavy groan, he pushed himself out of his recliner. When he opened the door, he saw a teenage girl standing on the porch, no older than sixteen.
Before she could speak, Frank snapped, “I don’t want to buy anything, I don’t want to join any church, I don’t support homeless kids or kittens, and I’m not interested in environmental issues.” Without waiting for a response, he slammed the door shut.

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He turned to leave but froze when the doorbell rang again. With a sigh, he shuffled back to his chair, grabbed the remote, and turned up the TV volume.
The weather report showed a hurricane warning for the city. Frank glanced at it briefly, then shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter to me,” he mumbled. His basement was built to withstand anything.

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The doorbell didn’t stop. It kept ringing, over and over. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Each ring grated on Frank’s nerves. Finally, he stomped back to the door, muttering to himself. He flung it open with a scowl.
“What?! What do you want?!” he barked, his voice echoing down the quiet street.
The girl stood there, calm, her eyes fixed on him. “You’re Frank, right? I need to talk to you,” she said.

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Frank narrowed his eyes. “Let’s say I am. Who are you, and why are you on my porch? Where are your parents?”
“My name is Zoe. My mom died recently. I don’t have any parents now,” she said, her voice steady.
“I couldn’t care less,” Frank snapped. He grabbed the edge of the door and started to push it closed.
Before it could shut, Zoe pressed her hand against it. “Aren’t you curious why I’m here?” she asked, her tone unwavering.

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“The only thing I’m curious about,” Frank growled, “is how long it’ll take you to leave my property and never come back!” He shoved her hand off the door and slammed it so hard the frame rattled.
The doorbell stopped. Frank peered through the curtains, checking the yard. It was empty.
With a deep sigh, he turned away, feeling victorious. Little did he know, this was only the beginning of his nightmare.

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The next morning, Frank woke up, grumbling as he dragged himself to the front door to grab his newspaper.
His jaw dropped when he saw the state of his house. Smashed eggs dripped down the walls, their sticky residue glinting in the sunlight.
Large, crude words were scrawled across the paint in messy black letters, making his blood boil.
“What in the world?!” he shouted, looking around the street, but it was empty.

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Grinding his teeth, he stormed back inside, grabbed his cleaning supplies, and spent the entire day scrubbing.
His hands ached, his back throbbed, and he swore under his breath with every stroke.
By evening, exhausted but relieved to see the walls clean, he stepped onto his porch with a cup of tea.
But his relief was short-lived. Garbage was scattered across his yard—cans, old food, and torn papers littered the lawn.

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“Stupid girl!” he shouted at no one in particular, his voice echoing through the quiet neighborhood.
He stomped down the steps, grabbed some trash bags, and began cleaning. As he bent to pick up a rotten tomato, his eyes caught a note taped to his mailbox.
He yanked it off and read aloud, “Just listen to me, and I’ll stop bothering you. —Zoe.” At the bottom, scrawled in bold numbers, was a phone number.
Frank crumpled the note and hurled it into the trash.

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The next morning, loud shouting woke him. He looked outside to see a group of people waving signs.
“Who the hell are you?!” he yelled, opening the window.
“We’re here for the environment! Thanks for letting us use your yard!” a hippie-looking woman called.
Fuming, Frank grabbed a broom and chased them off. Once they were gone, he noticed a caricature of himself drawn on the driveway with the caption, “I hate everyone.”

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On his front door was another note:
“Just listen to me, or I’ll come up with more ways to annoy you.
—Zoe.
P.S. The paint doesn’t wash off.”
And again at the bottom was a phone number.
Frank stormed inside, slamming the door behind him. He grabbed the phone and dialed Zoe’s number with shaking hands. “Come to my house. Now,” he barked and hung up before she could respond.

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When Zoe arrived, her jaw dropped. Two police officers stood on the porch beside Frank, their expressions serious.
“What the—? Are you kidding me?!” Zoe shouted, glaring at him.
Frank folded his arms and smirked. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Guess what? You’re not.”
The officers cuffed Zoe. “You old jerk!” she yelled as they led her to the car. Frank watched, smug, believing this was the end of his troubles.

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The next day, the city issued a hurricane warning. The winds howled, bending trees and tossing debris down the empty streets.
Frank looked out the window as he prepared to head for his basement. His eyes widened when he spotted Zoe outside, clutching her backpack and stumbling against the wind.
“What are you doing out there?!” Frank shouted, flinging open the door. The wind nearly tore it from his hand.

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Zoe turned, her hair whipping around her face. “What does it look like?! I’m looking for shelter!” she yelled, her voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. “I have nowhere else to go!”
“Then come inside!” Frank barked, stepping onto the porch.
“No way!” Zoe snapped. “I’d rather face this hurricane than go in your house!”
Frank gritted his teeth. “You were desperate to talk to me yesterday. What changed now?”

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“I realized you’re a selfish, grumpy idiot!” Zoe shot back.
Frank had enough. He stomped down the steps, grabbed her backpack, and hauled her toward the door.
“Let me go!” Zoe screamed, twisting against his grip. “I’m not going with you! Let me go!”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Frank bellowed, slamming the door behind them. “Stay out there, and you’ll die!”

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“Maybe that’s fine! I have nothing left anyway! ” Zoe yelled, her face red. “And do you think your stupid house is some kind of fortress?!”
“My basement is fortified,” Frank growled. “It’s survived worse than this. Follow me.”
Zoe glared at him but hesitated. After a moment, she sighed and trudged after him toward the basement.
The basement was surprisingly cozy. It looked like a small, well-used living room. A single bed sat tucked in one corner, with shelves of old books lining the walls.

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A pile of paintings leaned against the far side, their colors muted by age. Zoe glanced around, unimpressed, then dropped onto the couch with a loud sigh.
“You wanted to say something? Now’s your chance,” Frank said, standing stiffly near the stairs.
“Now you’re ready to listen?” Zoe asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We’re stuck here for who knows how long. Might as well get it over with,” Frank replied, leaning against a shelf and folding his arms.

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“Fine,” Zoe said. She reached into her backpack, pulled out some folded papers, and handed them to him.
Frank frowned as he took them. “What’s this?”
“My emancipation papers,” Zoe said, her tone matter-of-fact.
Frank blinked. “What?”
“It’s so I can live on my own,” Zoe explained. “Without parents. Without guardians.”

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“How old are you?” Frank asked, squinting at the documents.
“Sixteen… almost,” Zoe replied, her voice firm.
“And why do you need my signature?” Frank asked, looking at her sharply.
Zoe met his eyes without hesitation. “Because you’re my only living relative. I’m your granddaughter. Remember your wife? Your daughter?”
Frank’s face paled. “That’s impossible.”

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“It’s very possible,” Zoe said with a cold laugh. “Social services gave me your address. When Grandma talked about you, I thought she was exaggerating. Now I see she didn’t tell me half of it.”
“I’m not signing this. You’re still a child. The system can take care of you.”

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“You’re joking, right?” Zoe snapped. “You were a terrible father and husband! You left Grandma and Mom to chase some fantasy about painting. Your art isn’t even good—I was better at five! And now, after all that, you won’t even sign a piece of paper to help me?”
Frank’s hands clenched. “It was my dream to be an artist!” he shouted.
“It was my dream too!” Zoe shot back. “But Grandma’s gone. Mom’s gone. And you’re the only family I have. You’re also the worst person I’ve ever met!”

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They sat in silence after that, the tension heavy in the room. Frank knew Zoe was right. He had been selfish. Back then, he had seen only his art, blind to everything else.
After two hours, Frank finally spoke. “Do you even have a place to stay?”
“I’m working on it,” Zoe muttered. “I’ve got a job. I still have Mom’s car. I can manage.”
“You should be in school, not figuring out how to survive,” Frank said.

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“Life doesn’t work out the way we want,” Zoe replied, her voice soft but firm.
For the next few hours, Frank sat silently, watching Zoe sketch in her notebook. Her pencil moved with confidence, every stroke purposeful.
He hated to admit it, but her art was bold, creative, and alive. It was far better than anything he had ever painted.
The radio crackled to life, its monotone voice announcing the hurricane had passed. The storm was over.

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Frank stood, his joints stiff, and gestured toward the stairs. “Let’s go up,” he said. Once upstairs, he glanced at Zoe and handed her the signed documents without a word.
“You were right,” he said, his voice low. “I was a terrible husband. A lousy father too. I can’t change any of that. But maybe I can help change someone’s future.”
Zoe stared at the papers for a moment, then slipped them into her backpack. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
Frank looked at her and nodded. “Don’t stop painting. You’ve got talent.”

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Zoe slung the bag over her shoulder. “Life decided otherwise,” she said, heading for the door.
“You can stay here,” Frank said suddenly.
Zoe froze. “What?”
“You can live here,” Frank said. “I can’t undo my mistakes, but I also can’t throw my own granddaughter out on the street.”
“Do you really want me to stay?” Zoe asked.

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“Not exactly,” Frank admitted. “But I think we might both learn something.”
Zoe smirked. “Fine. Thanks. But I’m taking all your art supplies. I’m way better than you.”
She turned toward the basement. Frank shook his head. “Stubborn and arrogant. You get that from me.”

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What Men’s Beauty Standards Look Like in Different Countries
The mainstream definition of what an ideal man should look like varies from country to country. Just like women, a lot of men try to follow common beauty trends in order to be seen as more attractive. The cultural difference in what exactly people consider objectively beautiful might come as a surprise.
Bright Side did a fun bit of research about what people consider to be the ideal male beauty standard in many countries around the world. Looking at the most beloved male celebs will tell you about what is considered attractive.
1. United States and Canada

According to People’s magazine, the most attractive men in the US for the past 3 years are Paul Rudd (Ant-Man), Michael B. Jordan (Black Panther), and singer John Legend.
The usual definition of beauty, when it comes to men in the United States and Canada, is having a muscular physique, ruggedness, and golden skin. However, in the past couple of years, especially among the younger generation, an androgynous look has become more desirable.
2. India

According to the poll, the most attractive men in India are actors Shah Rukh Khan (Don 2), Aamir Khan (Like Stars on Earth), and Hrithik Roshan (Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara). Even though Shah Rukh Khan took first place, he actually opened up, saying that he has been called “ugly and unconventional” in the past.
The main beauty standard in India is having a lighter skin tone, which gets promoted a lot on TV. Other than that, Indian standards are pretty close to American: tall, muscular man, who have clear skin and a full head of hair.
3. United Kingdom

According to a 2021 poll, the most attractive man in the UK is Tom Hardy (Inception), and 2022 research suggests that Richard Madden (Game of Thrones) has a huge shot of winning that title.
The research data says that the ideal type of man for British people has an athletic build, brown eyes, short dark-brown hair, and some facial hair. In fact, men with beards are found to be over 60% more attractive than men without them.
4. Philippines

The most attractive men in the Philippines have been noted as Josh Cullen Santos from the boy group SB19 and the actor Alden Richards (Imagine You & Me).
The beauty standard in the Philippines has shifted and instead of looking macho, the men care about their appearance a lot and go for a more beautiful look, so they go to salons to get facials. Other standards include having dark hair, being at least 5’9“, and having a more “mestizo” look, which means being mixed with white.
5. South Korea

While western countries prefer men who are athletically built, South Korea likes more of a skinny, androgynous-looking body (not too skinny, fat, or muscular) for men. Men need to be a little bit soft, with slim facial features, double eyelids, and lighter skin.
Male celebrities in South Korea also do not shy away from using makeup or dyeing their hair, actors dye it black to look more youthful while idols dye it “fun” colors, and it is not considered to be revolutionary like it would be in the US.
6. Mexico

Mexicans go for a more “macho” look, which means being extremely masculine, as opposed to South Korea which prefers a more androgynous look. The list of the most attractive men includes actors Diego Boneta (Luis Miguel) and Ryan Guzman (9-1-1) in the first 2 spots.
7. Germany

According to research, German women prefer their men to be taller, with either black or brown short hair. The largest percent of the respondents said that they would like their man to be muscular, but skinny men took a close second place.
Football player Marco Reus and the actor Thore Schölermann have been named the most attractive men.
8. Italy

In Italy, men being overly masculine does not have much importance in terms of their attractiveness. In fact, a lot of men are into grooming and styling their body hair, and Italian men do not shy away from wearing “girlish” colors, like pink or purple.
The most attractive male celebrities are considered to be Raoul Bova and Giulio Berruti.
9. Australia

Australian male beauty standards are focused on physical size and being muscular. While women perceive their bodies as heavier than ideal, men who follow beauty standards, on the contrary, think they are too skinny. The Hemsworth brothers are considered one of the ideals of Australian beauty.
10. The Netherlands

The Netherlands is considered to be a country that has the tallest people in the world, with the average height of a woman being 5’7″ (around 170 cm), and 6’0″ (around 183 cm) for men. Dutch women seek a male partner that is taller than them.
TV presenter Arie Boomsma and actor Michiel Huisman have been named 2 of the most attractive Dutch men, and their heights match up the beauty standard: Boomsma is 6’5 (around 198 cm), while Peelen is 6’1 (around 185 cm). Notably, both men are also muscular and have facial hair.
Which country’s standards align with your own? Do you think standards are hurtful for people’s self-esteem?
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