Chapter – 11
After returning from school, my heart was heavy with sorrows—sorrows I had carefully tucked away and hidden deep inside. I lay quietly in my peaceful room, eyes closed, but my mind was restless, uneasy in a strange way.
Did none of my friends really remember my birthday?
I wasn't upset that someone as quiet as me had been forgotten… it just hurt that the ones whose birthdays I've memorized by heart couldn't remember mine. But everyone has their own lives, their own troubles. Maybe I was foolish to think someone would remember mine at all.
Lost in these thoughts, I don't even know when I fell asleep.
After some time, I heard a knock at the door. My eyes were still heavy with sleep, my mind drifting in the valleys of dreams, yet I could hear the knocking. Forcing my sleepy eyes open, grumbling a little about whoever was at the door, I dragged my stumbling feet across the floor and opened it.
Standing there was a girl—probably around 21 or 22. She was beautiful, but her expression was hard to read, almost as if she were drunk. She was drunk, though, because as soon as she spoke, a strong smell hit me.
It was no one else but my beloved sister—Csillia.
I looked at her, and it felt like she had slapped the restlessness out of my mind with her sudden appearance. She was lying on the floor, trying to get up, only to fall again. Mumbling something to herself, she took a few shaky steps forward—steps that seemed like they were meant to move on… yet she stumbled right into me and fell at my feet.
She kept muttering, "That bastard… who does he think he is? Messing with a girl like me and now going after someone else? If I don't shoot him with a gun, then don't call me Csillia."
I stared at her, wide-eyed, a strange laugh rising to my lips. There was a fire in her eyes, a wildness… and for some reason, that made me smile.
I helped that clumsy, tumbling girl up and laid her down on the bed, but she didn't lie there peacefully. She kept rolling side to side, mumbling endlessly. I was worried—what if her voice got too loud and Mom heard how much she had drunk?
This was Csillia, my drunkard sister, the one who'd had flings and dates with nearly every guy in this street, the complete opposite of me.
"Hey Freya," she called, and I looked at her as soon as I heard my name.
"Not today… it was yesterday, right? Your birthday? Happy birthday," she said with a sudden giggle. "If I weren't drunk right now, I'd never say this to you. But… happy birthday! Hihi… haha… Happy birthday, Freya… happy birthday, Freya…"
Her voice softened into a rhythm, almost like a lullaby.
"I remembered your birthday…" she whispered to herself, "but I wasn't here… and I don't know why I'm even telling you this…" Then she pressed a finger to her lips, giggling sleepily, her eyes half-closed, and slowly drifted into sleep.
I kept looking at her, my eyes wide, brimming with tears. My heart ached to hug her, to hold her tight.
My sister remembered my birthday. She remembered it.
I couldn't believe it. This girl—my prideful, rude sister, who rarely speaks kindly to anyone, especially in her right state, acts like she does not care about any other soul—she remembered.
And in that quiet moment, I knew: she does care. She always has.
Her silly actions had somehow calmed the storm within me. She woke me up and then fell asleep herself. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, while mine were now wide awake—she had taken my slumber with her.
I got busy with my work again and remembered that I had already done the entire share meant for the three of them. There was only a little left now, which they would have to do themselves. So I texted them saying, "Come and take it from home."
Just as I was thinking that, I reached for my phone, yawning lazily, and opened it to find a few new messages. One of them read:
"Freya, please come to Sifra's house. It's close to everyone's home anyway, and we can have a party too."
But… reading that message placed me right in the middle of a little boat of hesitation. A part of me wanted to go, but another part didn't.
I still remember… the last time I went to a home party, what happened to me there.
But I also had to hand over the work. So, anchoring that little boat of confusion on one side, I decided to get ready to go, thinking I would just drop everything off quickly and return. After messaging yes, I started getting ready.
I wore a red strawberry-colored top and white shorts. I braided my hair, picked up my files with one hand, slipped on some white sneakers, and left the house.
I stepped out through a narrow lane lined with red trees and reached a busy street filled with people. Sifra's house was just ten minutes from there, so I decided to walk.
I lowered my head, adjusted my glasses, and began walking in small steps.
The big street was crowded, surrounded by large, expensive shops. It was evening; the air was cool, some dark clouds loomed above, and the sun had hidden itself. The road was lit up with lights. In that glow, I kept walking ahead, matching my pace with the flickering reflections.
As I was walking, I suddenly saw a very beautiful girl with an angry expression scolding a man harshly. The man, who looked about twenty, was looking down, trying to stop her. When he grabbed her hand, she slapped him hard across the face in that crowded street and walked off, showing him her middle finger.
The guy stood there, frozen. Seeing that made me laugh a little and piqued my curiosity — what had just happened?
But I brushed it off and continued walking with a faint smile on my lips.
After a few more steps, I reached Sifra's simple house. It was a modest place glowing with lights, as if its brightness was calling me — though I wasn't ready to go in.
Sifra's home was plain but pretty, made more beautiful by the blooming flowers in her garden. Her parents were usually away, so she mostly stayed alone.
Thinking about all this, I rang the doorbell — no answer. I rang it again, but still nothing. I messaged her, waited for a while, but there was no reply.
After waiting a bit more, I gathered some courage and tried to open the door — and it opened. I stepped inside and called out. Music was playing from upstairs.
Cutting through the silence, I moved toward the sound and climbed the stairs.
Just as I reached the top, the music stopped. Then I heard people laughing — it was Sifra, Elish, and Hugo. They were saying something, but I couldn't catch it clearly.
I moved closer to the voices — and then, I heard my name.
"Freya? … I only talk to her because she helps with our work. Otherwise, who would even speak to her?"
I heard those words. The voice was Elish's.
Hearing them, my steps froze just before entering the hallway, from where a strong smell of alcohol was wafting.
Those words surrounded my mind like a storm. I wanted to step inside, but my legs refused to move forward.
"Freya? She's crazy, have you seen the way she walks? She doesn't even know how to talk or walk properly... I'm embarrassed to even call her my friend. Such a dumb girl! Always sits like a lunatic. Even her laugh is annoying."
It was Sifra's voice — the same girl who, just yesterday, had smiled at me and whispered kind words in my ear —
"Thank you, Freya."
My friends? No.
Maybe I kept my eyes closed even after knowing the truth. The people I thought were my friends — hearing their voices today, I felt a sudden jolt in my heart, as if it had cracked.
It was already full of scars, but today, someone had broken it open with a dagger full of betrayal.
The pain I was hiding, the fear I was trying to push away — today, that very thing was standing in front of me, as truth.
My legs stopped there. My heart felt heavy. I didn't understand why I was standing like a statue.
And then I heard a deep voice, heavy with alcohol —
"Remember when she once yelled at me? A girl like her yelling at me? Someone who can't even speak properly, yelling at Miss Popular? Just because we made fun of her in front of the whole class? About her dead grandfather? She's a dumbass. She's insane."
"Hahaha! She doesn't even have a sense of humor. Have you seen the way she dresses? And the way she looks at Adri — as if Adri would ever like her? A guy like him wouldn't even look at her. She's okay-looking, but Adri? With her??"
"Remember when I tried to kiss her and she slapped me? And because of her, Adri got into a fight with me? Adri was creeped out by the way she looked at him, remember? That's why he asked me — 'Why does Freya look at me like that?' He even said, 'I'd never go for a girl like Freya.'"
"If she didn't do our work, I wouldn't even talk to her." — Elish and Sifra both said.
The people I thought were my friends — even when they ignored me, mistreated me, made fun of me — I always forgave them, thinking that this happens in friendships.
Today, hearing all this — the truth I was hiding behind a curtain just to hold on to fake happiness, the fake smiles I believed in — that curtain lifted on its own.
My legs wouldn't move. I stood there frozen. My hands gripped the bag tightly.
A strange pain began to rise in my chest — a sorrow, like someone had thrown stones at me or whipped me bare.
But why?
The question I always wanted to ask everyone but kept buried inside — today, it echoed loudly in my mind —
But why?
I left the house.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I walked away.
Even the glow of that brightly lit road couldn't hold back the darkness inside me.
I kept walking—through the laughter of children, the arms of lovers, the warmth of families, and the chatter of friends—like a lonely wind drifting past them all.
The very people I always wanted to see happy... today, I was walking forward, silently carrying the wounds they had been inflicting on me for who knows how long.
And even in the crowd of that big street, I felt completely alone.
There was only one question—
But why?
I didn't go home.
There were some stairs leading up to a quiet place—a peaceful place.
Searching for that peace, I started climbing those stairs built on a small hill.
When I reached the top, I sat under a tree.
There was silence there. A strange calm.
It was a wide area, and in one corner stood a bench, tucked beneath a small roof and shaded by flowering trees. The bench rested beneath those trees, and I sat alone on the opposite side.
From where I sat, more than half the city looked like twinkling stars—glowing, distant, untouchably beautiful.
A red-flowered tree stood above me, its blossoms scattered around me, decorating my sorrow.
I didn't even know what I wanted to think.
Or what I didn't.
Why is it that every time… every single time… I end up being the one who hurts people, the one who makes them angry?
I try. I really do. I give everything I can… but I'm human too.
Why doesn't anyone ask me if I'm okay?
Why doesn't anyone ask me what I want?
Just once… just once, if someone asked—"Are you okay?"—it would be enough.
Just once… if someone tried.
My eyes were red, and the tears kept flowing like a stream.
What am I even doing with my life?
My dream was music—
And now, I don't even have that.
My second dream was to be a good girl.
A good friend.
And today, I'm not even that.
I...
What should I do?
What?
I lowered my head and kept crying, hands folded, sitting at the base of that tree.
The cold wind rustled the leaves. The red petals lay quietly around me.
That's when I heard a voice—
A voice so lovely, it carried the rhythm of music itself:
"Live, for life is but one—stay happy and spread it around.
We are companions in this journey till death...
Just give me your hand..."
Hearing those words, something stirred in me.
I laughed suddenly.
At myself.
Here I am, drowning in my sorrow…
And just a few steps away, behind those flowers, someone is living—
Living the dream I once longed to live too.
While I sit here crying, someone out there is breathing life into the very dream I lost.
Why is it always me...?
Lost in thought, those magical words did something to me.
My eyes filled up again.
But this time… my heart grew quiet.
I don't know when—
But somewhere, while listening to that melody, I drifted into sleep.
I heard my phone ringing nearby,
But I didn't move.
Grief had wrapped me in its arms, even in sleep.
The ringing continued.
I tried to open my heavy eyes.
And when I finally did—
I realized I'd been asleep for quite a while.
Night had fallen.
The breeze had grown calmer.
The only light was from a white lamp glowing over the red trees.
Startled, I stood up and grabbed my phone.
10 PM.
I had never stayed out this late.
Over 30 missed calls—from my brother and my mom.
Panic rising, I stood—
And something slipped off my shoulders.
A blue hoodie.
But... I hadn't brought one.
There was no one else here. Except—
The one with that melodious voice.
It must be his.
But how will I find him to return it now?
Maybe I'll come back tomorrow and leave it here.
Well... thank you.
But why would you care about a girl like me—
A girl who could never be "good" for anyone?
A girl who couldn't even fulfill her own dreams?
As thoughts drifted in my mind,
I leaned against the railing, looking at the city—sparkling like stars.
So beautiful.
Yet within its glow hid countless shadows.
Circles of darkness hidden in the light.
I stood there for a while.
Why would you even care for me?
I didn't want to leave.
This peace... it gave me a strange feeling.
And the hoodie—
It had such a comforting smell.
But the phone kept ringing.
Eventually, I had to say goodbye to that peace,
And walk back home.
Inside me, there was sorrow.
A sense of fear.
A burning ache.
But also…
A strange stillness.
A quietness that muffled the screams inside.
I wondered what would happen when I got home...
Would I be able to endure any more?
My heart stayed still.
Countless wounds lay quietly beneath that stillness.
As I walked, I saw two small kids—maybe 8 or 9—on their parents' shoulders.
All four were smiling. So happy.
The boy sat on his mother's shoulders. The girl on her father's.
"Mom, thank you for giving me this gift. Thank you, Mumma."
"Won't you thank daddy? I'm upset now."
"No, sorry! You're the best. Thank you, Daddy!"
"Kids, today is your birthday—and a mother can forget anything, but never her child's birthday.
but Your father was only reminded by me." man
"That's not true! I remembered too!"
The two kids held hands and said,
"Mom, Dad—don't fight. It's our birthday today."
Hearing that, a small smile tugged at my lips—
And tears returned to my eyes.
If a mother never forgets her child's birthday...
Then my mother...?
I couldn't think further.
More tears.
It's my birthday too.
I remembered once asking my dad for a gift.
And he said,
"Freya, have you ever done anything worth being proud of?
Stop dreaming nonsense.
Be like your siblings!"
Why?
Why?
I wiped my tears and turned into a narrow, quiet alley.
The red flowers there were silent too.
I wiped my face and rang the bell outside our small wooden house.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
Mom and Dad stood there.
Behind them—my brother, making strange faces and signaling something.
I ignored him and stepped forward.
But their angry expressions stopped me.
The questions began—sharp, loud.
I'm tired.
Tired of these angry stares.
Tired of reminding myself that they're my parents, and they have a right to be mad.
Tired of climbing the stairs of dreams they built for me.
Tired of their disappointment.
Tired of always being wrong.
I lowered my gaze.
My mother's sharp voice cut into me:
So Miss freya , finally step her foot into house , why are you so late?
Where are you , why are u not even picking up my phone ?
"Freya, is anything even important to you anymore?
Now you've started staying out this late too?
Trying to ruin our name?
Ever feel a sense of shame?"
"Why don't you say anything? Don't you know how to speak?
Speak up!"
Then came my father's usual lines:
"Freya, once again, I'm ashamed of you.
Your mother told me about your school performance.
You missed first rank by just 10 marks.
Learn something from your siblings."
That's all he ever says.
My mom kept scolding.
My dad walked away in silence, disappointed with red eyes glanced at me like I am some garbage smelling their house .
My brother stood watching, confused and with a curious look.
Honestly, I wanted to punch him.
Suddenly, my mom grabbed my face, forced it upward and said—
"When someone becomes as stubborn as you, words don't matter anymore.
Why don't you just die?"
A deeper crack formed inside me.
Everything went still.
Silent.
Only my brother's voice echoed—
"Mom, what are you saying? Please, let's go, Mom. Calm down."
He led her away.
Gestured for me to go upstairs too.
I stood there, frozen.
I didn't know what I was thinking.
Or why I was crying.
I just stood—quiet and alone.
No one came.
After a while, I walked to my room,
Closed the door—
And cried.
And I don't even know
When I fell asleep crying.