Even though my sister was right about me being stuck in the past, I couldn't bring myself to agree with her on one thing: I couldn't just pretend as if nothing happened and act like my mother never existed. Doing that would break my core, shattering every moral and promise I held dear.
I knew I had to remember everything. I had to carry those memories forward, do my absolute best in the present, enjoy whatever life had left for me, and fulfill every single promise I had made to Mother. Even though her voice was gone, and even if there might come a day when the details of her face faded entirely from my mind, I vowed that I would keep the warmth of her love locked forever in my heart.
With my mind finally made up to live my life and do my best, I turned my head to look across the quiet room. My sister was already deep asleep, and beside her, my niece was resting peacefully.
I closed my eyes and tried to force myself to drift off. But as I lay there in the quiet, I noticed a strange, uncomfortable dampness beneath my cheek. I reached out blindly in the dark and touched the pillow. It was completely soaked.
It was only then that the realization hit me: while I had been lost deep in thought, reliving those traumatized past events, the tears had been silently streaming from my eyes the entire time. I hadn't even noticed myself crying. Even now, fresh tears were still welling up and spilling over my lashes.
I need to shake this off, I told myself, fighting back a fresh wave of panic. I can't afford to break down like this, or I'll fall sick again. I have classes tomorrow.
Determined to clear my head, I reached up and quickly wiped away the remaining tears. Without wasting another second, I turned the pillow over to the dry side, burying my face against the cool fabric.
Fumbling blindly in the dark for my phone, I unlocked the screen and opened my music app. Over the past couple of months, music had become my only sanctuary on nights like this. I navigated to the sleep mode settings, where I could set a precise timer to let the music fade out automatically. On nights when I just felt a little restless, twenty or thirty minutes usually did the trick. But tonight, I knew my emotional storm was far too heavy.
I set the timer for forty-five minutes, carefully curated a playlist of calm, gentle melodies meant to quiet a racing mind, and pulled the blanket tight around my shoulders, waiting for the music to lull me into sleep.
The next morning, the shrill ring of my alarm shattered the quiet. I blinked against the morning light and sat up, noticing immediately that the room was already stirring. Outside the bedroom, my sister was up and moving about, briskly packing her bags and tidying up her clothes as she prepared to leave for her in-law's house.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, swung my legs out of bed. While my sister finished up her packing, I gathered my books, cleared off my desk, and carefully arranged my study materials, mentally prepping myself for the long day of classes ahead.
Stepping out into the hallway, I saw my sister surrounded by the family. She was acting as if yesterday's heavy conversation had never happened. She was smiling, speaking with her usual sweetness, seamlessly sliding back into her familiar facade. A strange, hollow feeling twisted in my chest. It felt weird, unreal, almost and knowing I couldn't handle the emotional whiteness of it, I quietly chose to ignore it.
I buried myself in my routine. I ate a quick breakfast, took a hot bath to wash away the lingering lethargy of the night, and finished getting dressed. In the midst of my preparations, my sister finally bid everyone goodbye and departed for her husband's home. Not long after, once my own bag was packed and everything was in order, I stepped out the front door and headed toward the station to catch my train.
As the train rattled along the tracks, the toll of the previous night caught up with me. A dull, relentless headache pounded against my temples, a physical manifestation of the mental exhaustion I had dragged out of the dark. My thoughts felt thick and sluggish, entirely out of focus. Resting my head against the cool glass of the window, I closed my eyes, trying to steal a few minutes of rest amidst the rhythmic clatter of the commute.
Even when I reached college and sat through my lectures, I couldn't focus the way I used to. The words of the professors blurred together, competing with the persistent throbbing behind my eyes.
I need to take it easy today, I told myself, pressing a hand against my aching head as the morning dragged on. If I don't slow down and rest the moment I get back home, I'm not going to survive this pace. My head hurts far too much to keep pretending I'm okay.