There was once a teenage girl named Alya , a girl who never learned to stay quiet when something felt wrong.
If someone raised their voice, she raised hers louder. If someone told her to sit still, she would stand up taller.
People called her stubborn. Her family said she talked back too much. But Alya didn't mean to start fights she just couldn't stand being misunderstood by her family.
At home, her words were her weapon and her shield. Her brother hated it, her mother sighed at it, but her father… her father only smiled.
He was the only one who saw her heart behind her temper. When others scolded her, he'd place a gentle hand on her head and say,
"She's not bad. She just has too much fire for this small world."
He spoiled her endlessly late-night rides for ice cream, small surprises, hugs that made the world quiet again.
Whenever she got in trouble, she'd run to him first.
And every single time, he'd protect her like she was something fragile even when she pretended to be strong.
Her father was her home.Until one day, that home vanished.
Alya was only nine when she saw her mother's eyes red and swollen, her brother standing in silence. Her father, the man who always made everything okay, was gone taken by kidney failure.
She didn't understand at first. She waited by the window that night, believing maybe he'd come back. But he didn't. He never would.
That was the day the light left her life.
And the world turned cold.
The house changed after that. Her brother became strict, almost like a soldier. Her mother stopped laughing. Dinner was quiet. The TV played, but no one really watched.
Alya tried to speak, to fill the silence, but her words only started fights.
"You never listen."
"You talk too much."
"Why can't you be calm for once?"
She wanted to scream, "Because I'm hurting too!" but she never did.
She just hid behind sarcasm, behind anger, behind the same "talking back" they all hated.
Yet even with the pain, she still loved them. Especially her mother — the woman who tried to stay strong even when her eyes were tired. Slowly, Alya started helping her more, learning to cook a little, sitting beside her after work. Sometimes they'd talk until midnight about random things her mother's childhood, her father's favorite food, old memories that made them laugh and cry at once.
For a moment, life almost felt okay again.
Then came the call.
Her brother had gotten a job in another state. He said he wanted to start a new life for all of them.
"Come here, mom. Alya too. I promised Dad I'd take care of this family,"
he said through the phone.
Her mother wanted to go, but her work held her back. She loved her job it was the one thing keeping her steady after everything fell apart. So she told Alya, with tears she tried to hide.
"You go first, okay? Just for a while. Until I can come."
Alya wanted to refuse. She didn't want to leave her mother the only person who made her feel safe anymore. But she also didn't want to disappoint her brother. So she went.
Her brother's place was too small, so she stayed at her aunt's house, her mother's sister.
That was the start of another kind of storm.
The people there were… different. Everything she did seemed wrong. The way she dressed. The way she spoke. The way she laughed.
"Why are you wearing that? You don't have money, do you?"
"You should be more grateful we let you stay here."
They didn't mean to sound cruel, maybe, but their words bruised her anyway.
She felt like she was always walking on eggshells, always trying not to make anyone mad.
At night, she'd cry quietly into her pillow, whispering to the dark,
"I miss you, Papa. I miss you, Mama."
No one heard her. No one asked how she was doing.
For two years, she lived like that pretending she was fine, pretending she was strong.
And then, one evening, everything changed.
Her phone rang. Her mother's voice cracked through the speaker.
"Alya, I'm moving here. I got the transfer."
Alya froze. She didn't even reply at first.
Her tears fell before the smile did.
For the first time in years, she felt something warm in her chest again hope.