A Place We Used to Sit (English)

PROLOGUE

All forms of constructive criticism and suggestions are sincerely welcomed. Please read this work with an open heart.

Thank you. :)

***

My breath came out like a thin mist. It was so cold. A gentle wind slipped through the vent, carrying faint sounds from afar—the barking of dogs, neighbors whispering, the rustle of leaves, or perhaps footsteps, real or imagined. Yet from behind the clothesline, I caught sight of one or two silhouettes that looked almost real, though slightly blurred. Maybe it was because the streetlights weren’t very bright, or because some neighbors were too stingy to turn on the lights in front of their houses.

The chill in the air brought both fear and calm at once. This should have been a time to rest from the weariness of the day, or to simply lie down with a mind free from worldly worries. Yes, it should have been.

But there was a tightness in my chest—deep, invisible, and suffocating. Like the night that hides many secrets, I was allowed to glimpse a few of them. The clock ticked loudly, too loudly, as if time itself were aiming its arrow straight at my heart—whose frantic beating I could hear in my own chest.

The cold crept up to my head, right after I heard a loud bang from the bedroom. The silhouettes behind the clothesline scattered in haste. I wanted to step outside, to stop whatever was happening, to remind them that I was still here—listening to their nonsense. I didn’t understand everything, but the tone and rhythm of their voices told me enough.

Father and Mother were not okay.

And I—like a statue—just stood still, listening, watching, pretending to know nothing.

My body trembled. My hands clasped tightly, trying to hold back tears. But they fell anyway—quietly, stubbornly. Since I was little, Mother always told me that home was the safest place, and parents were the strongest protectors, shields that would always stand before their child. Yet tonight, they looked like two enemies ready to destroy each other. Shattered, like a glass thrown to the floor, with no way to be made whole again.

I hated the shouting, the fighting, the insults—all of it. I tried not to listen, but it was far too loud to cover my ears. Soon they might go silent, but I… I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard.

Dragging my feet, I stepped out of my room and sat at the edge of the staircase. My body felt smaller as I looked down at the scene below. Chaos. Ruin. Mother crying, Father shouting.

It hadn’t always been like this. They used to be fine. We used to be fine. We’d talk after dinner, laugh, plan weekend outings, or simply joke about what I might become when I grew up.

Yes, it should have still been that way.

“To think you’re a lecturer in religious studies, turns out you’re a sinner, Linda! You’ve committed adultery! You’ve been unfaithful!”

My body shuddered harder. Father’s voice thundered. The neighbors might have thought we were rehearsing a play—for we’d always been praised as the picture of a harmonious family.

“Using your work as an excuse for ‘academic service,’ but you spend your time alone with another man—even letting him drive you home when I’m away. You’re a terrible mother, Linda! You’re not a true educator, not a role model! I divorce you, Linda! In the name of Allah, I divorce you three times! We’ll settle this in court!”

I was barely a teenager—thirteen. But I’d heard the word divorce before, from my religion teacher’s stories at school.

My parents were not okay.

Our harmony had ended.

They separated.

And I knew, from that night on… I had officially lost the home I once called my own.

***

Thank you for stopping by.