When I was a kid, Mom and Dad were… lovely. Truly lovely. They spent most of their time with me. From what Mom told me, on the day I was born, Dad was so overjoyed he danced with the doctor who delivered me.
When I was in school, they took turns bringing me homemade lunch. It was supposed to be five days for Mom and one for Dad. But somehow, Dad always managed to sneak away from work. Nearly every day, he came right after Mom left.
Most days of the week he took me out—shopping, parks, movies, just anywhere fun.
"And there was this one day," Aasia continued softly, "when my class teacher scolded Dad for taking me out every day. I got so angry at her for yelling at him, I bit her arm. She complained to Mom, of course. That morning Dad and I had the best time together, but when we got home that night, Mom lectured him for hours. He finally kneeled and apologized while I hid behind the door because even I felt guilty."
She let out a small nostalgic laugh.
"These little moments… they are what I remember. And my birthday gifts. Mom always hid a surprise present from Dad, and Dad hid one from Mom. Then they gave me a third, official one together during the cake cutting. Three gifts every birthday. My friends barely got one, so I used to brag about mine for an entire month. Sometimes, I even showed them off to my teachers. I was proud of that. Silly, but proud."
She smiled again, a soft, fading thing.
"My childhood was blissful at the beginning. And among all those sweet memories, there was one more person who made everything sweeter."
Her voice softened into something faraway.
"Mom's friend's son, Dravid. He lived upstairs. He was in high school then and lived alone, so he often came down for meals, hung out with us, helped around the house. He felt more like family than a guest. And even as a little kid, I adored him. Completely adored him. He was handsome and kind, and I stuck to him like glue. I always wanted him to take me to his school, always tugged at his sleeve."
She shook her head slowly.
"When I was five, he graduated and moved to a small flat near his college. Mom tried hard to stop him. She argued, she begged. But she let him go on one condition: every weekend she would bring him food. I tagged along every single time. But when the evening came and Mom said, 'We should go home now,' I cried the whole walk back. I hated leaving him."
Her voice tightened, warm with old affection.
"But Dravid noticed. In just a few weeks he started coming back home with us. He would play with me until I fell asleep, then quietly leave. That made my whole world right again."
She drew a slow breath.
"There was one weekend he had to go somewhere, so he asked Mom not to bring food. I cried for hours. Nothing calmed me. Finally, Mom showed me her old album—her acting school album. Photos of her in costumes, performing scenes, rehearsing for casting. That was when I learned she had once been an actress."
Aasia's eyes softened with deep memory.
"I asked her why she quit. She didn't tell me, and I didn't push. But I asked her to act for me, any scene she liked. She refused at first, then finally agreed. And that one small performance… it carved itself into my heart. It is the reason I became an actress. The reason I kept going, no matter what."
Her eyes shimmered faintly.
"She performed a short dialogue from Twist, by Humal. Dravid's favorite book. He used to read it all the time. I don't remember the scene itself, but I remember how the whole evening after that, Mom and I talked and laughed like never before. That laugh… it is one of the few truly happy memories I have of her."
Aasia fell silent.
She stared at the storm raging outside the RV window. A single raindrop slid down the glass. She watched it travel all the way to the bottom, lost in it until Isha called softly:
"Ma'am?Ma'am?Ma'am?"
Aasia blinked and turned back to them."You stopped, ma'am," Isha said gently.
Aasia swallowed. "When I'm telling you my story, I do not feel like I am remembering my past. Strangely I feel like I am reliving it."
She looked back at the rain, her voice lower now.
"When I was nine, there was a storm. A terrible one. Much worse than this."
Thunder rolled outside as if answering her.
"The King ordered schools to close early. I came home excited, thinking I would get more time to play with Dad. But no one was there. The house was empty and dark. I waited by the door. The storm was so loud that even a few hours felt like an endless night."
Her voice trembled almost imperceptibly.
"I was nine. Alone. In the dark. With nothing but that terrifying storm for company."
The RV lights flickered as lightning cracked outside.
"It was morning when Dad finally returned. I saw him walking through the gate. In my heart, I hoped he would lift me up, hug me, tell me everything was fine. But I also wanted him to understand how much I suffered."
A faint, sad smile touched her lips.
"So I made a plan. As a punishment for leaving me alone, I decided to pretend to cry. I lay down on the floor, covered my face, and forced myself to sob. Dad's footsteps grew louder and louder. It almost felt like they were speaking to me in his voice…"
Her tone dropped to a whisper.
"'I'm coming, Aasia. I'm coming.'"
"But while I was lying there," Aasia continued, her voice drifting into the memory, "trying to pretend to cry, my mind kept wandering to all the things Dad would do once he saw me. I kept imagining his worried face, the way he would rush to me, the way he always lifted me up and spun me until I forgot every sadness. And I imagined his relieved smile when he realized I was only pretending. Just imagining it made my little nine–year–old heart flutter."
Her eyes softened with a fragile glow.
"Maybe I was too happy imagining it, because no matter how hard I tried, no tears came. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried again and again, but the tears refused to fall. And while I was still struggling to fake my own crying, the footsteps stopped beside me."
Aasia's hands curled slightly in her lap.
"I waited. I waited for Dad to kneel and lift me into his arms. But he did nothing. And a few seconds later, the footsteps began moving away."
She closed her eyes for a moment.
"I opened mine and moved my hands from my face, ready to look at him. But before I could see his expression, he walked into his bedroom and shut the door. The sound of the lock turning… it felt like something had cracked open inside me."
She looked toward the RV window as if she were watching that old door again.
"I sat up slowly. My eyes stayed fixed on the door. I waited. Minutes passed. I did not blink. I did not speak. I just stared at it, convinced that any moment he would burst out and rush to me."
Aasia's voice dropped lower.
"I didn't even notice when Mom came home. She walked past me toward the table and asked, 'Where is Dad?' without looking at my face. I heard her clearly, but I couldn't speak. I could not turn to her. I only stared at that door."
She swallowed hard.
"Mom noticed. She hurried to me, bent down, and tried to see my expression. And when she finally saw my face, she rushed forward and hugged me tightly. She kept patting my back, rubbing my cheeks, asking, 'Why are you crying so hard?'"
Her eyes shimmered.
"I did not understand why her dress was only wet at the shoulder. I did not understand why she was rubbing my cheeks. But the moment she said the word crying, I felt it. A stream. A flood. Tears flowing without end. And only then did I realize I was crying."
Her breath trembled.
"It was strange. When I didn't know I was crying, I felt nothing. But the moment I realized it, my heart began to ache as if someone were squeezing it. The tears I tried so hard to force earlier came pouring out without control. Mom held me, but nothing stopped it. And seeing the flood drench her made me cry harder."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as if the tears were returning with the memory.
"I cried for hours. Eventually we fell asleep on the floor. If I had more strength, I am sure I would have cried for days, maybe even months."