“I am so excited. We are finally in Paris!” I chirped with joy. “According to my research, Paris is known to some people as the country of love,” my sister added in the know-it-all tone that she occasionally used. As she began googling about Paris on her smartphone, I simply rolled my eyes. Such comments usually got on my nerves. Brushing that aside, I recalled that I was on holiday, and holidays are for relaxation. My parents hailed a taxi to our rented guesthouse. There was an air of excitement and we fidgeted impatiently in the taxi, eager to reach our destination. When we got there, we were stunned and speechless; it was nothing like the house we had rented online! The house looked abandoned and ghastly, similar to one that we would visit at Halloween! Our expressions fell immediately. Our mother tried to cheer us up by bleating a clichéd quote: “Never judge a book by its cover.” “Maybe it will look better inside?” she added. In actual fact, the ‘best’ was yet to come. The door opened with a creak. There they were – cobwebs all over! The wooden planks on the floor squeaked with every step we took. I squeezed Mother’s hand more tightly as we inched in. Our eyes appeared empty of life and there were lumps in our throats. There was not even a light switch in the house! My father was incredulous, of course. He fished out his trusty iPhone and checked the details. “I think we have come to the wrong address,” he announced with a tinge of enthusiasm. “Our rented guesthouse is some blocks away from this place!” Upon hearing that, we collectively heaved a sigh of relief and were all smiles. Filled with hope, we skipped there cheerfully. Thankfully, our rented place looked grand and proper inside and out. If it had been that derelict guesthouse, our holiday would have definitely been a disappointment. It was night by the time we figured things out and we were enervated by then; I remember we all plopped down on our beds and slept soundly that night.