Finally Home

My tummy feels like it's doing front flips, and my heart is nearly dropping from excitement and nervousness. Kilam, shirtless, opens the door. He blankly stares at me and, without asking any questions, quickly slams the door in my face. I chuckle. What's the matter with this boy? I am so eager to see him, and this is what I get.

Then I remember that I still have my mask and sunglasses on. He might not have recognized me. As I reach to remove my coverings, the door flies open again, and I feel a sudden pain on my left arm. An intense electric shock, to be specific. I blackout.

***

My eyes blurry and head heavy. I struggle to move. I am laying down in a comfy bed, with a familiar scent. I think am in dream. It feels like home, wait… I am home. I remember boarding a plane, the Lighthouse Garden. Am I home? I open my eyes, to see myself surrounded by everyone. Kilam, Ayyih, mama and dad. They are all present, even our maid. They look at me smiling, surprised and worried.

"Sirah…Sirah are you awake?" Kilam inquires, whilst looking very concerned.

Mama hurriedly comes to my side, lays my head on her shoulder and pats my head. "My Sirah is finally home. I can now sleep in peace. We missed you so much dear."

"Kilam, you bastard... How could you?" I groan, trying to sit up. My body feels weak, but the familiar faces around me give me comfort.

"I'm so sorry," Kilam said, his voice thick with regret and guilt. "I didn't recognize you at first and panicked. The neighborhood has been unsafe these past few weeks, and I thought you were a thief. I can't believe I hurt you."

Seeing his distress, I manage a small smile. "Well, you've certainly made my homecoming memorable." I try to lighten the mood.

He chuckles nervously, still looking worried. "I promise I'll make it up to you. Just rest for now."

It's after that conversation that I realize my father has not welcomed me. That's weird. I am his favorite, yet he has not hugged or talked to me, other than looking at me. He seems rather bothered and upset.

"Daddy, I missed you so much. I remembered you every day. Come give your precious daughter a hug," I try to pacify him.

He comes and gives me a light hug and demands that I have a good rest before stoically leaving the room. A sharp pain daggers my soul. I expected a little bit more. It's been so many days, and all I get is a nonchalant face. Mama notices my distress.

"Don't worry, sweetie. Your father is just stressed with work, you know he's about to retire" she says, trying to comfort me.

"Just be honest, Mama, he is not pleased that you came without informing him. When Sirah mentioned she would be coming back, he told me he would pick her up and throw a welcome party for you. He hates surprises," Ayyih chips in.

"Remember how he was mad at you for weeks when you decided to leave? Probably he needs closure. That emotional old man," Ayyih says while making fun of me. He makes sure he ruins my day. My first day home.

"Mama, look what he's saying, how can he say that...," I complain.

"Okay, let's stop arguing. Sirah, have a good talk with your father later on," Mama reasons.

"Oh yeah, I remember I bought fried chicken from our favorite stop. The food will get cold," I remember and mention it.

"I suppose you are quite thoughtful," Ayyih says as he quickly runs to get the food. Kilam, in response, follows him running, as Ayyih is known to eat everything without leaving anything for the others.

Mama tells me to have a rest and leaves the room to follow her son. She screams telling them not to finish the food.

I remain alone, but the uneasiness lingers. The warm welcome I envisioned from dad, has turned into a strange, cold atmosphere. Yet, despite the mixed emotions swirling in my heart, it's still good to be home.

I spread my eyes across the room, and a wave of familiarity and happiness washes over me. My room looks exactly how I left it, clean and neat as if they knew I was coming back. The soft pastel walls, adorned with my favorite posters and artwork, give off a warm and welcoming vibe. The plush, cozy bed is neatly made, and my old stuffed animals are arranged perfectly on it, just the way I used to.

The bookshelf, filled with my beloved books and knick-knacks, stands proudly in the corner. Each item on the shelves tells a story, a memory from my past. I notice the small desk by the window, where I used to sit and daydream for hours, now perfectly organized with all my stationery in place.

As I take in the room, I can feel the love and effort my family put into maintaining it for me. It's as if they were waiting for this very moment, anticipating my return. A sense of belonging and comfort envelops me, making me feel truly at home.

I walk out of the bed and sit down, running my fingers over the soft, familiar fabric of the quilt. Memories of my childhood and the countless nights I spent here flood my mind, bringing a smile to my face. I take a deep breath, savoring the scent of home, a mix of fresh linen and a hint of Mama's cooking wafting in from the kitchen.

In that moment, I realize that no matter where life takes me, this room will always be a sanctuary, a place where I can find solace and reconnect with my roots. It's good to be home.

I return to my small desk, its chair perfectly angled to capture a breathtaking view. Nostalgic memories fill mind, I remember how during the day, I would see birds flitting among the trees; at night, stars scattered across the sky, each one a whisper of dreams I was yet to be realize. This is where I often lose myself in thoughts of distant lands and the possibility of soaring above it all.

I open the drawer and my fingers find an old diary, a glittering silver book that has kept my secrets safe. As I open it, the scent of aged paper fills the air. Inside, I find pages filled with hastily scribbled poems, words that once held the weight of my unspoken emotions. Every line is a fragment of my past self, a window into moments when I had no other way to express my heart.

As I turn the pages, a small, neatly folded nylon package catches my eye. It's an old Oreo wrapper, but it makes me smile. This is no ordinary wrapper; it is a cherished memento, a token of affection from Dimahom. Oh, that lovely soul who once brought so much joy into my life.

I pause, holding the package gently, memories flooding back. How is he now? All these years have passed, and I have neither asked about him nor sought him out. I distanced myself from everyone who might have had any connection to him. How is he coping with the passage of time?

I know I broke his heart. The weight of my guilt is a constant companion, a reminder of my actions. Forgiving myself seems impossible. I sit back and stare at the sky, wondering if he ever thinks of me, if he ever wonders why I disappeared from his life.

With a heavy heart, I close the diary, the memories mingling with the stars outside my window. The past is a constellation of mistakes and lost opportunities, yet it is also a canvas of moments that shaped who I am today.

Honestly, I don't regret leaving Dimahom. The decision was for the best—both for myself and for him. But it pains me to know that I hurt him in the process. Leaving him was a necessary step towards growth and healing, yet the guilt lingers, a shadow in my heart.

Sometimes, I wish I had given him an explanation, some form of closure. Maybe then, the weight of my actions wouldn't feel so heavy. Perhaps he would have understood, maybe even forgiven me in time. But instead, I vanished without a word, leaving him to piece together the fragments of our shattered past.