The "for sale" sign was taken away, replaced by the sight of a moving truck parked neatly in front of the house. Her things were carefully tucked into the house. The silence of the woods wrapped around the home, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the call of birds. The truck was only packed for five minutes before leaving, its exhaust fading into the stillness of the woods. The brief disturbance left behind a hush, as though the forest had swallowed the sound whole. Inside, the house was slowly transforming. Boxes lined the hallway, waiting to be opened. Dust swept in corner waiting to be packed. The furniture, once hidden beneath covers, now revealed its sturdy charm. The fireplace filled with dirt were brushed aside. Music flowed as she cleaned the house. In no time, everywhere became sparkling clean that you could even see your reflection. The cleaning made her exhausted that she had to take a nap. The strike of hunger woke her up, she went to the kitchen to make a quick meal.
She sat on the dining table, eating her lunch while scrolling through the contacts on her phone. Her thumb lingers on her boyfriend's contact. She decided to try her luck by calling him, surprisingly the line connected.
"Hello Alex!" she said, her breathing increased. Her hands were sweaty as she pressed the phone to her ear.
"What do you want?" he asked, he was clearly still angry with her.
"I moved into my new place today" she said softly. There was silence after that. She can hear his breathing on the line. His voice came up after some seconds.
"Good. Send me the address." he said harshly and hanged up.
Mira dropped the phone on the table, she broke into tears. All these was her fault, she should not have cheated on him with his best friend. She was caught up in the moment and her boyfriend had travelled then. He came home early and caught them in the bed. He shared room with his best friend, Maxwell. All her efforts to apologize were in vain. She just decided to call him today. She loves her boyfriend so much because he was there for her when she lost her parents. She packed her plates to the sink and went into her room.
The next day, she woke up and continued her chores. As she worked, she noticed how the world around her shifted: the birds announcing dawn, the scent of wet earth after the night's dew.
She walked into the rooms one by one, noting every color, every design, every patterns. There was a particular room that was different, looking at the design and texture, it is a child room. The walls of the room was full of algae. She sighed, went into the bathroom and came out with scrubbing materials. She tightened her grip on the bucket, the weight of the scrubbing brush pressing against her palm. The child's room felt heavy, not because of its size but because of the silence it carried. Walls once meant to cradle laughter now cloaked in algae, the green spreading like forgotten time. Each scrub was an act of reclamation. The algae resisted, clinging stubbornly, but she pressed on, determined to restore the space. In no time, she cleared all the algae, wash the walls. It was restored back to the original color. She stacked the boxes carefully, one after another, until the room began to take on a new shape. What had once been a child's sanctuary was now becoming a storeroom. The algae stains were fading, replaced by the orderly presence of her belongings. She paused for a moment, surveying the transformation. She pulled the door shut with a soft click, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet room. In the dim light, the wall seemed ordinary but at the far edge, where shadow lingered, an algae had begun to bloom again.
By the time she went into the attic, time had been far spent. She looked into it and shut the door, telling herself she would clean it tomorrow. The air was heavy with dust, the kind that clings to forgotten spaces, and the faint smell of wood and dampness lingered. The slanted ceiling pressed down like a secret, and the single window let in only a thin ribbon of light. Tomorrow she would sweep away the cobwebs, polish the window, and lay a rug to soften the floor. Tomorrow she would bring in a desk and a chair, line the walls with books, and pin her ideas to the boards until the attic became more than a forgotten room. She dashed out to her kitchen and prepared a light dinner. She danced along to the tune pouring out from the music box, her feet tracing patterns only she could see, as if the melody had spilled out into the air and painted invisible lines for her to follow. The room seemed to pulse with her rhythm. Every twirl, every sway, a conversation between body and sound. Lost in the rhythm of the dance, she didn't notice the food boiling over on the cooker. It was the only the sudden shift in atmosphere that pulled her back to reality, sending her rushing into the kitchen.
"Great, the food is burnt." she muttered, twisting the knob to turn off the cooker.
She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a plate of salad. Reaching for the jar of mayonnaise, she scooped out a spoonful and smeared it across the crisp vegetables, coating them in a creamy layer. The music had already faded into silence, leaving the room wrapped in calm. She sat down with her plate of salad, savoring each bite in the quiet, enjoying the peace that settled around her. After finishing every spoonful, she carried her plate to the sink. Feeling the weight of sleep pressing down on her, she walked slowly to her room. Each step echoed against the tiles, a soft clatter marking her retreat into the quiet night. Closing her eyes, she felt the bad memories rushing back especially that haunting night of the accident. Restless and uneasy, she slipped on her headphones, letting the music drown her thoughts until sleep finally claimed her. In the dim light, a shadow lingered across her face.