There was a time when I didn't have to think before entering a room.
A time when laughter didn't feel distant.
A time when I didn't stand outside doors, listening instead of being part of what was inside.
Now…
I hesitated.
Even before doing something as simple as walking into my own child's room.
[Isle POV]
That afternoon, the house felt unusually quiet.
Too quiet.
For a moment, I thought maybe everyone had gone out.
But then I heard it.
Soft laughter.
Coming from the living room.
I walked slowly toward it.
Each step felt… heavier than it should have.
And then I saw them.
My child sat on the floor.
Mian beside them.
They were playing a simple game.
Drawing, guessing shapes, laughing at wrong answers.
It was such a normal scene.
So warm.
So familiar.
But something about it felt… distant.
Like I was watching from the outside.
"Mom!" my child said the moment they saw me.
"Come play!"
I paused.
For a second…
I didn't know what to do.
Then I smiled.
"Okay."
I sat down beside them.
Trying to ignore the strange feeling in my chest.
"Look," my child said, showing a drawing.
"What do you think it is?"
I leaned closer.
"A tree?"
"No!" they laughed.
"It's a bird!"
"Oh…" I smiled awkwardly.
"I see."
Mian chuckled softly.
"It does look like a tree a little."
My child pouted.
"It doesn't!"
"It's okay," Mian said gently.
"Art is about interpretation."
Interpretation.
She always had the right words.
Always knew what to say.
I stayed quiet.
Watching them interact.
Watching how naturally everything flowed between them.
"Your turn, Mom!" my child said suddenly.
I hesitated.
Then picked up the pencil.
I started drawing slowly.
A simple shape.
Careful lines.
"What is it?" my child asked eagerly.
Before I could answer…
Mian spoke.
"A house."
I froze.
My child's eyes lit up.
"Yes! It is!"
I hadn't even finished drawing it.
I slowly put the pencil down.
"Yeah…" I said quietly.
"A house."
But the moment felt… taken.
Like something small…
had been interrupted.
After a while, my child leaned against Mian.
Tired from playing.
"Stay with me tonight," they said softly.
"Please?"
I looked up quickly.
Mian glanced at me for a brief second.
Then back at my child.
"If your mom allows," she said calmly.
My child turned to me immediately.
"Please, Mom!"
I opened my mouth.
But the words felt stuck.
Because saying no…
would make me look unreasonable.
"It's okay," I said softly.
My child smiled brightly and hugged her.
"Yay!"
And just like that…
another small decision…
wasn't mine anymore.
Evening came slowly.
I spent most of it in the kitchen.
Not because I had to.
But because it was the only place that still felt slightly mine.
Even if just a little.
"Why are you doing everything alone?"
I turned.
Mian stood at the door.
"I'm just cooking," I said.
She walked in.
"I can help."
"I don't need help."
The words came out sharper than I intended.
She paused.
Then smiled faintly.
"Okay."
But she didn't leave.
She just stood there.
Watching.
After a few seconds, she stepped closer.
Picked up a knife.
Started cutting vegetables.
"I said I don't need help," I repeated.
"I know," she said calmly.
"I just want to."
That answer…
left no space to argue.
So I said nothing.
We worked in silence.
The only sound was the knife against the cutting board.
Then suddenly…
she spoke.
"You used to like cooking."
I paused.
"I still do."
She looked at me.
"Not like before."
Something about the way she said it…
felt personal.
"You don't know that," I said quietly.
She didn't reply immediately.
Then she said softly,
"I know more than you think."
The words sent a slight chill through me.
I didn't respond.
Because I didn't know how to.
Dinner felt the same as always.
Everyone talking.
Everyone comfortable.
Except me.
At one point, my father said,
"Mian has really brought life back into the house."
My chest tightened.
My mother nodded.
"Yes, everything feels more lively now."
More lively.
As if it wasn't before.
As if I hadn't been enough.
I kept my head down.
Focused on my plate.
Because if I looked up…
I didn't know what my expression would show.
[Child POV]
Everything felt fun these days.
Aunt Mian was different.
Not like other adults.
She listened.
She played.
She didn't get tired easily.
And she always knew things.
Even before being told.
"Do you like being here?" the child asked one night.
Mian looked at them.
"Yes."
"More than before?"
A small pause.
Then she smiled.
"Yes."
The child smiled too.
"Good. I like it when you're here."
Mian's hand gently rested on their head.
"I like being here too."
Her voice was soft.
But something about it felt… deeper.
Even if the child didn't understand why.
[Isle POV]
That night…
I stood outside my child's room again.
Listening.
Like I always did now.
"Tell me another story," my child said sleepily.
"Alright," Mian replied softly.
Her voice filled the room.
Calm.
Gentle.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
I leaned slightly against the wall.
Closing my eyes.
Listening.
And suddenly…
a memory surfaced.
A long-forgotten one.
Two girls sitting together.
Late at night.
Whispering under blankets.
"Stay with me," a younger voice said.
"I'm scared."
"I'm here," the other replied softly.
"I won't leave you."
My eyes opened slowly.
My breath felt uneven.
Why…
did that memory feel so clear now?
Why…
did it feel like something important?
I stepped away from the door.
Walking back slowly.
And for the first time…
a new thought formed.
Not just fear.
Not just confusion.
But something else.
Something deeper.
What if…
this wasn't new?
What if…
this had always been there?
And I just…
never noticed?