𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝘼𝙬𝙖𝙮

2. LAILA

***

ITS there...

That sound. That freaking music.

I'm not one to recognize musical instruments other than the basic guitar or pianos. But I know that this haunting melody is traditionally Malayan. The one played back in the 13th century Malacca or something.

Its soft. Dainty. But loud.

It has been 3 days. Every 7 pm, after the day I saw that...thing, the music will ring loudly. And only to me. No one else heard it.

"Assalamualaikum," a familiar voice broke my concentration to the melody. Ending it completely. Why do I feel empty now that its over?

"Waalaikumusalam," most of us answer in unison.

Drying my hands off at the nearest towel after the previous dish washing task, I walk to the living room to meet an expected face.

"Zaiha, so nice to meet you so soon,"

"Of course Tiha, its been so long,"

Poison dripped far more subtley than these two.

Ruzaiha, my mother's sister. My aunt. With a Fendi handbag by her side, a Cartier sunglasses tuck to the top of her head. Her shawl flows elegantly with her cold air.

Ironic, the chemistry professor of Kedah's AIMST University doesn't have much chemistry around here.

I walk back to the kitchen to resume any kind of cleaning with an open ear.

"Funny, I'm the one working here and there but you're the one who's face are rarer than the nuclear fusion,"

"Would've been great if mom ALLOWS us to return but hey, circumstances. Not that you'd know anything about that," I could here the glare.

"I wouldn't need too, Tiha. Whatever it was, you should've kept it that way. Now? I can feel the peace disintegrate,"

Ouch! A moment of dangerous silent passed before she speaks again.

"Oh, look at the forest! So lush and fresh. Mom, you have to tell me your secrets before my son takes over!" She puts on a playful tone which earns her a disaproving sighed from my grandmother.

I'm always fooled by her luxurious exterior. Soon, my grandfather had already planned to give all of his crops to my aunt's oldest son from three, Fattah. Can't blame him. Fattah's 21 and already a student in Stanford's agriculture department.

A scoff is the least of my mother's act for jealousy. Her ruffling of her work papers became louder and more aggresive.

"I'll tell you when the time comes. Don't you have anything to do?"

"No. Don't you know mom? Since I live so near, I've made a habit to visit my mom anytime I can. With family or not," she patted my grandmother's shoulder before walking to the kitchen for some water.

In the cold, brightly lit kitchen, both her and I sit in silence. Well, she sit in silence with her water. I stand, organizing the plates into their respective cabinets.