* Nine Years Ago *
The radio played softly in the background. One of those old love songs her mother never got tired of. The melody filled the small but beautiful house, and laughter bounced from wall to wall.
Amara, eleven, moved around the sitting room with a dusting rag in her hand, wiping the table, straightening the couch, and glancing every few seconds toward her parents.
Her mother was laughing, really laughing as her father twirled her gently around the tiled floor.
"Oh! please….stop it.." she giggled, but she didn't pull away. Her father only grinned, holding her close, their steps falling into rhythm with the music.
Amara smiled, her heart warm. This was love.
She wanted this, this joy, this peace. One day, she told herself, she'd marry her best friend too. Someone she could dance with on a random afternoon while the radio played softly. Someone who'd make home feel safe.
She hummed along with the song, her voice light, and twirled her rag as if she, too, were dancing.
In another corner, the television whispered the afternoon news, and the smell of fried meat drifted from the kitchen.
Everything was perfect.
Everything was home.
---
Her father's voice cut through the calm.
At first, it was low, almost like he was just talking normally but it grew sharper, tighter.
> "Please… not today," he said into the phone.
"I promise, I'll do it. I'll settle the bills, I swear. Just tell him to give me more time. Please, not tonight… I have a family. I'm taking care of them. Just… not tonight."
Amara paused by the doorway, a chilled bottle of water in her hand. She blinked, her head tilting slightly. Her father's voice didn't sound like the man who just danced with her mother a few minutes ago. It sounded… afraid.
She froze there for a moment, watching him.
His shoulders were tense, his knuckles white around the phone.
She couldn't understand what was going on, but she didn't want to be caught listening. So she quickly turned back toward the fridge, pretending she hadn't heard anything.
> "Hmm-mmm, life is beautiful," she hummed, hopping playfully toward the kitchen, pretending to dance with her invisible rhythm, the bottle clutched in her hand.
But before she pushed open the kitchen door, she looked back, just once.
Her father stood there, still facing the window, his hand trembling as he ended the call. His face was pale with worry, eyes dark with something she didn't recognize.
Pain. Fear. Regret.
Amara frowned softly. What could be wrong? she thought. Everything's fine… isn't it?
Her mother's voice called from the kitchen, breaking her thoughts.
"Amara! The water, please, before I choke here!"
Amara forced a smile, shook her head a little, and turned the handle.
"Coming, Mama!" she answered brightly.
The radio still played. The laughter had faded.
But the air in the house had changed, only Amara didn't know it yet.
* The Bath *
Steam rose softly from the bucket as Amara poured a bowl of hot water over her skin. The water ran down her back in thin streams, mingling with the droplets from her hair. The small bathroom was dimly lit, the walls worn, the tiles cracked but at least it was quiet.
She sat on the low stool in the corner of the tub, knees pulled to her chest, her forehead resting on her arms. For a long moment she just let the water trickle, eyes shut, lips pressed tight.
Then the tears came. Silent at first.
Then trembling sobs that she tried to swallow.
Her voice was a whisper, but it filled the little space.
> "Mom… Dad…" she breathed. "Life is so hard."
A shaky exhale left her chest.
> "I want to quit this job. Every day it gets worse. But if I quit…" She trailed off, hugging her knees tighter. "If I quit, I'll have to start from the beginning again. And there's no work for someone like me. No certificate. No big name. No chance at a good-paying job."
Her tears mixed with the water on her skin.
> "I'm tired," she whispered. "I'm so tired of this work."
Her fingers tightened around her knees. She tilted her head back, staring at the cracked ceiling.
> "It's so painful, Mom… Dad. That I had to start hustling so early. You left me… you left Chris…"
She sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
> "Even if I want to give up, I can't. Because of my brother. Because of my sweet Chris."
Her voice broke, but she kept whispering, like a prayer no one else could hear.
> "I don't blame you for leaving. But it hurts. It hurts so much. I miss you…"
Her sobs faded into small shivers as she poured another bowl of warm water over her shoulders, her lips trembling, her eyes shut tight.
Outside the bathroom, the house was quiet with only the ticking clock and the faint sound of Raymond and Chris talking in low tones.
Inside, Amara stayed curled up, a girl carrying the weight of a life she didn't choose, whispering to the only people who once made her world feel safe.
* INT. LIVING ROOM – SAME NIGHT *
Raymond sat quietly on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor. The small ticking sound of the wall clock echoed softly through the dimly lit room. Chris walked out from the kitchen, drying his hands with a worn towel.
"She's in the bathroom?" Chris asked, breaking the silence.
"Yeah," Raymond replied, voice low and thoughtful. "She said she's fine… but I don't think she is. When we talked on the phone, all these while, she sounded so fine. I didn't expect to see her like this."
He paused for a moment, worry flashing across his face. "Did something happen tonight? Did her boss, Madam Celine do something to her again?"
Chris shook his head slowly. "Not that I know of. It's just… she's been like this for weeks now. Ever since she started working under her new boss. It's like something changed in her. She doesn't laugh anymore. Even when I tell her those stupid jokes she used to roll her eyes at, she just… forces a smile."
Raymond leaned back on the couch, dragging his palm over his face, exhaling deeply. "The cheerful girl I used to know is gone. I really wish I could help her."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The faint sound of water splashing from the bathroom filled the silence.
Chris finally spoke again, voice lower, almost hesitant. "Do you think… it's about them?"
Raymond's eyes flickered briefly, a shadow crossing his face. He didn't reply. He just stared blankly ahead, his silence heavier than words.
The clock ticked on.
The water stopped running.
---
The moment stretched, sinking into a heavy silence.
Even the air felt still, thick, unmoving.
Raymond's silence stretched long enough that Chris almost thought he wouldn't answer. Then finally, his voice came… low, steady, and heavy with something buried deep. "I can't tell..."
"It is about them right?," Chris asked. His jaw tightened slightly. "You better not speak of this thing." Raymond replied sternly.
Chris swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the floor. "I know I was really young then," he murmured, "and I can't remember how everything happened. But… the way my sister cries, it's not just about her new job. It feels deeper."
He hesitated, his voice trembling. "I think it's connected to that night. To them."
Raymond turned his gaze to the boy, his eyes dark and distant. For a moment, the air itself seemed to still.
"Some memories," he said quietly, "are too cruel to carry twice."
He stood, his tone final. "You better don't."
The room fell silent again, the ticking clock marking the weight of what neither dared to say.
_ _ _
Moments later, the silence broke softly with the creak of a door.
Amara stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in her towel, her damp hair clinging to her skin.
"Oh, Chris," she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "You didn't skip my mind, I promise you! I was so worried I'd come home too late to make something for you. I hope you're not dying of hunger right now."
"Uurrrghh", she groaned, shaking her head. "Can you imagine? I didn't even buy anything while coming back, I was actually planning to cook! Oh, my brain, my brain!" She tapped her forehead in mock frustration.
Chris chuckled from the chair. "Calm down, sis. Chill. Don't be so hard on yourself. Big bro Raymond here didn't come empty-handed. He actually helped us stock up the fridge. We've got food that'll last us for a month, thanks to him."
Raymond laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck in that shy, boyish way.
"It's nothing much," he said. "Just the least I could do. After all, you're helping me with shelter tonight."
Amara smiled warmly. "Raymond, I can't thank you enough. Really, thank you."
She paused, then added, "So… you'll be staying the night?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I just came back from a social event outside town. I caught a bit of a cold, so I couldn't risk the road at night. Too dangerous."
Amara nodded in understanding. "No problem at all. If you change your mind and decide not to travel tomorrow, you can stay longer. Our home is your home. You're always welcome here."
"Thank you," he said sincerely.
The three of them sat together, sharing snacks and soft laughter. For the first time in a long while, Amara's laughter was real, not forced, not masked by pain. She felt warmth in her chest again.
Later, as the night stretched thin, they all retired to bed. Raymond and Chris shared the small room at the back, while Amara returned to hers.
She lay down, whispering a quiet prayer. "Thank you, Lord, for today… for giving me strength, for keeping them safe." She sighed,"
> "Huuuuuuuaaaahhhhhh…" > She yawned, raising a hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle it, but the sound rolled out of her, soft and tired, fading into the quiet of the room.
pulling the blanket over her tired body.
Then….
BANG!
The window burst open with a violent gust of wind. The curtain flew wildly, the flame of the small candle by her bedside flickering madly before it went out.
A chilling cold flooded the room, not the kind that came from rain-soaked weather.
No. This was different.
It was that same cold.
The same icy touch she'd felt when her hand brushed that man's skin.
Her eyes widened in horror. Sleep vanished instantly. Her heart pounded so loud she could hear it echo in her ears.
She tried to scream…
But no sound came out. Her lips parted, but her voice was gone.
And then…
Through the freezing air, through the faint moonlight streaming in from the window,
She thought she saw something.