823 sounds a lot more familiar

Back in my room, I take out the book and examine it closely. Yep - it really is a kind of safe.

What could be so valuable that my grandmother went to so much trouble to hide it? 

And more importantly, what could the code be? 

Is it the classic date of birth or perhaps her wedding day? 

And if so, can I just type it in? Or rather, where can I type it in?

I have to admit that I have never dealt with something like this before. 

In the age of the internet, we are used to finding our answers in search engines. Or, more recently, with AI.  

But now I have to do it myself.
I take a photo of the lock and run it through the search function on my AI.
Great!
According to my AI, I can attempt as many times as needed without locking it out. 

That’s a relief, but the sheer number of possible combinations is daunting. 

Whether it's two, three, or five digits, the possibilities seem endless.
I could end up as a grandmother myself before I crack this code!

Let's try my grandfather's date of birth first and then hers. 

I enter the numbers. 

Errors for both dates of birth. 

Now let's try my mother's date of birth. 

Error on the third. 

OK, then the date my grandparents got married. 

Error on the fourth.
This is getting very frustrating. 

It must be something simple, but only a few people know it. 

I stroke my chin thoughtfully.
When I think about it, I remember that my grandmother was not only obsessed with Greek mythology but also with number puzzles. Her addiction went so far that my grandfather didn't know what to do. 

Now that I think about it, Mum disposed of numerous Sudoku exercise books.
Maybe the code isn't just a significant date. 

Maybe it's a puzzle in itself, something only she would think of.

This mean i will never find the code.

I sigh out in frustration.
What good is this book if I can't get to its riddle?

My gaze wanders to the window.
The raindrops tap rhythmically against the glass, their steady beat reflecting the heaviness in my heart.  

It's as if the rain washes away the clarity, leaving only the hazy outlines of my thoughts behind. 

Speak the despair. 

Stop this song.  Wasn't there always a combination of numbers in this Song my grandmother used to sing to me?

I start to sing the Song again.

Think of me. Remember me when the day ends.

823 sounds much more familiar, so let's type it in.

Oh, Granny, you always wanted me to find it.

Somehow that makes me sad. 

To think that I would never have found it either. 

Because my mother, aka her daughter, sold the books. 

And has already given the rest to the library. 

My eyes wander back to the safe and its contents, some of which are even sticking out.
Wait a minute! This can't be true!