(Aisha's POV)
"Stupid fish," I muttered, yanking the net harder. Still empty. Just like my head. The wind whipped strands of my hair across my face, hair that Mama Elena says is as black as night, a color she doesn't see much on this island. I always wondered where I got it from.
The setting sun cast long shadows across the sand, turning the sea the color of bruised plums. Pretty, but useless. I needed to catch something. College applications weren't going to pay for themselves.
Army, I thought, the word echoing in my head. That's what I want. To serve, to protect. To be more than just the girl who washes up on the beach with no name. Mama Elena worries, I see it in her eyes, but she never says anything. She just smiles and makes my favorite adobo.
My fingers traced the silver necklace I always wear. Aisha. That's what they called me. But who am I?
"Aisha, anak! Any luck?" Mama Elena's voice, warm and familiar, cut through my thoughts.
"Nothing yet, Mama," I called back, forcing a smile. Don't worry her. She has enough to deal with.
I pulled the net again, my muscles aching. I can do this, I told myself. I have to. This island, this life... it's safe, it's good. But it's not enough. I want more.
I want to know where I came from. I want to know why I was left with only a name and a necklace. I want to be Aisha, not just the girl everyone calls Aisha.
The sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the beach into darkness. I sighed, gathering my empty nets.
Tomorrow, I thought.Tomorrow, I'll catch enough fish. Tomorrow, I'll fill out the applications. Tomorrow, I'll start to figure out who I really am.
The sand was cool beneath my bare feet as I walked back towards the house, the weight of the empty nets digging into my shoulder. Mama Elena would have dinner waiting – rice, maybe some vegetables from her garden, and hopefully, if Papa Ricardo had been lucky, some fresh fish.
The thought made my stomach rumble. As I rounded the corner of our small bahay kubo, I noticed something odd. A small, white flower, lying on the doorstep. It wasn't a local flower, I was sure of it. I'd never seen anything like it on the island.
It was delicate, with intricate petals and a sweet, almost intoxicating fragrance. Where did it come from? I wondered, picking it up carefully. Who left it here?
A chill ran down my spine. It was probably nothing, just a random flower carried by the wind. But something about it felt... deliberate. Like a message.
I tucked the flower into my hair, trying to shake off the feeling of unease. Stop being ridiculous, Aisha, I told myself. It's just a flower.
But as I stepped inside, the scent of the flower seemed to fill the small house, a constant reminder that something had changed.
Mama Elena smiled at me from the kitchen, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're late, anak," she said, her voice warm with affection. "I was starting to worry."
"Sorry, Mama," I said, forcing a smile. "The fish weren't biting tonight."
I didn't mention the flower. I didn't want to worry her. But as I sat down to eat, my mind raced. Who had left the flower? And what did it mean?
Maybe, I thought, a tiny spark of hope flickering in my chest
Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it meant that my past wasn't as lost as I thought it was. Maybe, just maybe, someone out there remembered me.
After dinner, I helped Mama Elena with the dishes, my mind still preoccupied with the flower. The scent clung to me, sweet and unfamiliar, a constant reminder of the mystery.
"You seem distracted tonight, anak," Mama Elena said, her eyes searching mine. "Is everything alright?"
I hesitated. Should I tell her about the flower? No, better not. Not yet.
"Just tired, Mama," I said, forcing a yawn. "It was a long day."
She nodded, but I could see she wasn't convinced. "You work too hard, Aisha," she said softly. "You need to rest."
I smiled and kissed her on the cheek. "I will, Mama. I promise."
Later, as I lay in bed, the flower tucked under my pillow, I couldn't sleep. The questions swirled in my head, a relentless tide of what ifs and whys.
Who am I? Where did I come from? Why don't I remember anything?
I closed my eyes, trying to block out the thoughts. But the image of the flower kept flashing in my mind, a small, white beacon in the darkness.
Someone knows, I thought, a thrill of both fear and excitement coursing through me. Someone knows who I am.
And then, another thought:
Are they coming for me?
I pulled the blanket tighter around me, shivering despite the tropical heat. The small bahay kubo, usually a haven of peace and security, suddenly felt vulnerable, exposed.
I need to be ready, I thought, my heart pounding in my chest. Whatever happens, I need to be ready.
Except, it wasn't a normal sleep. It was filled with images – flashes of a life I didn't recognize.
A bustling city, not the quiet island I knew. Tall buildings that scraped the sky, not swaying palm trees. And faces… faces I couldn't quite make out, but they were all reaching for me.
And a voice. A boy's voice, high and clear, calling "عائشة، لا تتركيني! (Aisha, la tatrukini!)" over and over again. It was a desperate, pleading sound that tore at my heart.
I woke up with a jolt, my heart racing. The flower was still tucked under my pillow, its scent faint but lingering. I stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of the dream.
The city… it felt real, not like something I'd imagined. It was like a memory, buried deep inside my mind, trying to break free. And the voice… it sounded so scared, so alone.
Who was calling me? And why?
I sat up in bed, my mind racing. This wasn't just a random flower anymore. It was a trigger, a catalyst that was unlocking something within me.
I have to find out what it means, I thought, a sense of determination hardening my resolve. I have to find out what it means.
I got out of bed and walked over to the small window, looking out at the sea. The sky was just beginning to lighten, the first rays of dawn painting the horizon in shades of pink and gold.
Today, I thought, taking a deep breath of the salty air. Today, I start looking for answers.
But where do I even begin? I didn't even know what language that was.
I ran my tongue over the unfamiliar sounds, trying to memorize them. "Aisha, la tatrukini..." What did it mean?
There was only one person on the island who might know.
After a quick breakfast of rice and dried fish with Mama Elena, I hurried down to the small barangay library, a single room filled with dusty books and the faint smell of old paper.
Aisha knew the librarian, Aling Ising, who was a kind old woman with a permanent smile and a passion for learning.
"Good morning, Aisha!" Aling Ising greeted me. "What can I do for you today?"
"Aling Ising, do you know what language this is?" I asked, writing the strange words on a scrap of paper. "Aisha, la tatrukini."
Aling Ising peered at the paper over her glasses. She tapped her chin, thinking. "Hmm, it looks like Arabic to me," she said finally. "But I don't know what it means."
Arabic! So, I really am an Arab? I thought to myself.
My heart sank. I'd hoped she would know. "Do you have any books about Arabic?" I asked.
Aling Ising shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Aisha. We don't have anything like that here. Maybe you could try the internet cafe in town?"
The internet cafe was expensive, and the connection was slow and unreliable. But it was my only option.
"Thanks, Aling Ising," I said, forcing a smile. "I'll try there."
The poblacion, the main town on the island, was a bumpy jeepney ride away. The air was thick with the smell of exhaust and the sounds of vendors hawking their wares. It felt a world away from the peace and quiet of our small fishing village.
The internet cafe was a cramped, dimly lit room filled with the hum of computers and the click-clack of keyboards. It was run by a surly man named Mang Tomas who always seemed annoyed to see me.
"One hour," he grunted, pointing to a dusty computer in the corner.
I paid him and sat down, my fingers crossed that the connection would be working. It took forever for the computer to boot up, and when it finally did, the internet was painfully slow.
Come on, come on, I thought, willing the computer to work faster.
I typed the Arabic phrase into a translation website, my heart pounding with anticipation. The little loading icon spun and spun, mocking me with its slowness.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the translation appeared on the screen.
"Aisha, don't leave me!"
The words hit me like a physical blow. Aisha, don't leave me. It was the voice from my dream, the desperate plea of a child.
Tears welled up in my eyes. This was real. This was a memory.
But who was the boy? And why was he begging me not to leave?
I spent the rest of the hour searching for more information about my name, about my heritage, about anything that could give me a clue to my past. But I found nothing. It was like I didn't exist before I washed up on the beach all those years ago.
Frustration boiled inside me. I slammed my fist on the desk, earning a glare from Mang Tomas.
This is useless, I thought. I'm never going to find anything.
As my time ticked down, I desperately searched for something, anything, that might connect me to my past. I tried different spellings of my name, different combinations of keywords.
And then, I saw it.
In almost every search result that mentioned Arabic names or families, a symbol kept appearing. It was a stylized image of a falcon, its wings spread wide, soaring through the sky.
I clicked on one of the images, hoping to find some kind of explanation. But the website was in Arabic, and I couldn't understand a word of it.
What does it mean? I wondered, staring at the image of the falcon. Is it a family crest? A symbol of power?
My time was almost up. With a sigh of defeat, I closed the computer and walked out of the internet cafe, the image of the falcon burned into my memory.
Back on the jeepney, heading home, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was on the verge of something. That I was getting closer to unlocking the secrets of my past.
The falcon… it was a clue. I was sure of it. But how could I decipher it?
As the jeepney rattled along the bumpy road, I closed my eyes and tried to picture the falcon again. Its wings, its eyes, its fierce expression.
And then, a thought flashed through my mind:
Maybe Mama Elena knows something.
She never talked about my past. It was a taboo subject, something we avoided out of respect for her feelings. But maybe, just maybe, she knew more than she let on.
The thought both excited and terrified me. Asking Mama Elena about my past felt like a betrayal, a questioning of her love and her decision to take me in.
But I couldn't ignore the burning questions that were consuming me. I needed to know.
When I got home, Mama Elena was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. The smell of garlic and onions filled the small house, a comforting aroma that usually calmed my nerves. But tonight, it did little to ease my anxiety.
"How was town, anak?" Mama Elena asked, without looking up from her cooking.
"It was okay," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I went to the library, and then the internet cafe."
I hesitated, trying to find the right words. How could I ask her about my past without hurting her feelings?
"Mama," I began, taking a deep breath. "There's something I need to ask you."
Mama Elena stopped stirring the pot and turned to face me, her eyes filled with concern. "What is it, Aisha? What's wrong?"
I swallowed hard, my palms sweating. "It's about my past," I said, finally. "About before I came to the island."
A shadow crossed Mama Elena's face. She looked away, avoiding my gaze.
"Aisha," she said softly. "We've talked about this. It's best to leave the past where it is. It's gone. It doesn't matter."
"But it does matter to me, Mama!" I cried, my voice cracking with emotion. "I need to know where I came from. Who my family is. Why I was left alone."
Tears welled up in my eyes. "Please, Mama," I begged. "Please tell me what you know."
Mama Elena sighed, her shoulders slumping. She looked at me with a mixture of sadness and fear in her eyes.
"Aisha, anak, I don't want to hurt you," she said, her voice trembling. "But some things are best left forgotten. Some truths are too dangerous to uncover."
"Dangerous?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest. "What do you mean, dangerous?"
Mama Elena shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I can't tell you, Aisha," she said. "It's for your own good."
"But Mama!" I protested, my voice rising in desperation. "I have a right to know! It's my life!"
"Your life is here, with us," Mama Elena said, her voice firm. "This is your home. We are your family. Don't go looking for trouble where there is none."
"But there is trouble, Mama!" I insisted. "I can feel it. I have dreams, memories… a voice calling my name."
I told her about the Arabic phrase, about the boy's voice begging me not to leave. I told her about the falcon symbol I'd seen online.
Mama Elena listened in silence, her face growing paler with each word. When I finished, she reached out and took my hand, her grip surprisingly strong.
"Aisha," she said, her eyes filled with tears. "Please, anak. Listen to me. Forget about the past. Let it go. It's not worth the pain it will bring you."
"But Mama…"
"No, Aisha," she interrupted, her voice pleading. "Promise me. Promise me you won't go looking for answers."
I stared at her, my mind reeling. What was she so afraid of? What secrets was she hiding?
I can't promise her that, I thought. The need to know, the longing for answers, was too strong to ignore.
"I… I can't promise you that, Mama," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, but I have to know. I have to find out who I am."
Mama Elena's face crumpled, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She released my hand and turned away, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
"Then I can't help you, Aisha," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "I won't help you bring danger to our home."
With that, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving me standing alone in the fading light.
Guilt gnawed at me. I hated hurting Mama Elena, but I couldn't deny my own needs any longer. I had to find out the truth, no matter the cost.
I'll be careful, I promised myself. I won't put them in danger.
But deep down, I knew that I was already on a path that would lead me far away from the safety and security of the island. A path that would lead me into the unknown.
I looked out the window, at the darkening sea. A storm was brewing on the horizon, the sky a swirling mass of gray and black.
Just like my future, I thought.
But I wasn't afraid. Not anymore. I was ready.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered a silent vow:
I'm coming for you, past. I'm coming for you, whoever you are.
And as the first drops of rain began to fall, I knew that my life would never be the same again.
(End of Chapter 1)