That evening, the house was filled with quiet murmurs of relatives, neighbors, and villagers stopping by to offer condolences. The air was heavy with incense, but to Alya, it felt like smoke that wouldn't clear, choking the edges of her thoughts.
She stayed close to her mother, watching, listening. Every time Nek's name was mentioned, her mother's eyes would darken, as though a shadow had passed across them.
Later, when the house had emptied and the last of the mourners had left, Alya sat with her mother at the kitchen table. The flickering lightbulb above them buzzed faintly.
"Ibu," Alya said softly, "how exactly did Nek… pass away?"
Her mother looked down at her hands, wringing them together. "She was old, Alya. It was her time."
But Alya had grown up with her grandmother. Nek had been frail, yes, but sharp and stubborn, never the kind to just slip away quietly. Something didn't sit right.
"Ibu," she pressed, her voice firm now, "tell me the truth."
Her mother's lips trembled. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she exhaled, long and tired.
"They found her outside," she said at last. "Near the back of the house. Her body was… not peaceful. Her face…" Her mother's voice faltered, and she shook her head. "It looked as if she had seen something. Something that terrified her to death."
The words sank like ice into Alya's veins.
She leaned closer. "What was she doing outside that late?"
Her mother's hands clenched tighter. "She said she kept hearing someone call her name. A woman's voice. Over and over. We told her not to go. But she went anyway. And she never came back."
Alya's heart pounded. A woman's voice.
The memory of the call replayed in her mind. The grief, the trembling tone. It hadn't been her mother's. It hadn't been Balqis's. But it had been a woman's.
Something shifted in the air. Alya felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck.
"What are you not telling me, Ibu?"
Her mother looked at her then, eyes wide with the weight of something unspeakable. Finally, she whispered, "Your grandmother… she was born with a sight. A gift, or maybe a curse. She could see what others could not. And sometimes… they saw her too."
The house groaned as if in response, the old wood creaking under invisible weight. A chill ran through Alya, deeper than anything she'd felt in the factory.
Because if her grandmother had been lured by a voice that wasn't real…
Then Alya knew she was already walking the same path.