Alya awoke sometime past noon, her body heavy from exhaustion. The familiar creak of the old wooden house greeted her as she stepped out of her room. The smell of incense lingered in the air, mingled with the faint, earthy scent of fresh grave soil drifting from the nearby cemetery.
Her mother sat quietly in the living room, rosary beads slipping between her fingers as she whispered prayers for the dead.
Alya hesitated before sitting beside her. "Ibu… when exactly did Nek pass away?"
Her mother sighed softly, eyes glassy. "It was last night. Around nine-forty-two."
The number lodged in Alya's chest like a stone. 21:42. Her shift had barely begun then.
"But… Ibu…" Alya's throat tightened. "Why did you only call me at one in the morning? Why wait so long?"
Her mother blinked, the rhythm of the beads faltering. A flicker of something—confusion?—crossed her face. "Alya… I didn't call you."
Alya froze. "What?"
Her mother shook her head, voice steady but bewildered. "I wanted to. But I couldn't bring myself to… not so soon. I… I forgot. Maybe your sister Balqis called instead?"
Alya's lips parted, but no sound came. Her sister? No. She remembered the voice clearly. The grief. The tremor. The way it had cracked when speaking of death.
"Ibu," Alya whispered, her voice trembling. "Balqis never called me. She didn't say a word."
Her mother's brow furrowed. For the first time since Alya arrived, there was fear in her eyes—not of loss, but of something else. Something that lingered just beyond words.
The rosary beads slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the floor.
The two women sat in silence, the sound echoing through the house far too loudly for such a small thing.
Alya's heart pounded. If her mother hadn't called, and her sister hadn't called… then who had spoken to her at one in the morning? Who had told her to come home?
Her gaze drifted to her cracked phone lying on the table. The call log was still there. 01:03 AM. The contact name: Ibu.
But the number beneath it… was nothing but a string of zeroes.