Silent Half

Chapter Twelve: Silent Colors

I woke up early, the remnants of a sleepless night clinging to me like cobwebs. My body felt heavy, but not as much as my heart. I pulled on my school uniform, the familiar fabric worn thin from repeated use, and quietly made my way downstairs.

I reached the dining room just as my parents were finishing their morning tea. My mother glanced up, her eyes narrowing as if the mere sight of me offended her.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, voice cold and clipped.

"School," I replied simply, adjusting my bag strap over my shoulder.

My father looked up from his phone. "You’re not going anywhere."

I blinked, confused. "What do you mean? I have class."

My mother stood up, placing her cup on the saucer with a sharp clink. "We’re not going to let you go around bullying your sister again."

"What?" My voice trembled. "I’ve never—"

"Don’t pretend like we don’t know," she snapped. "Amara told us everything. You’ve been harassing her, being cruel, making her feel unsafe in her own home and school."

In the corner, Amara leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smug smirk playing on her lips. She looked like she had just won another prize. I could practically feel the satisfaction radiating off her.

"That’s not true," I whispered, but even I knew my words meant nothing here.

My father stood up, his chair scraping back against the floor. "You leave this house, and I swear, we’ll make sure your brothers stop wasting their time and money on you. Don’t forget who controls everything. We gave you shelter, food, an education—don’t bite the hand that feeds you."

His words struck deeper than I expected. I stood there for a second longer, frozen, before I gave a small nod and turned around, back to my room like a prisoner returning to her cell.

I spent hours staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant murmur of the household moving without me. At eight, I couldn’t take it anymore. Quietly, I slipped out of my room and tiptoed down the hallway. Making sure the coast was clear, I descended the service stairs that led to the back of the house.

At the far end of the lower hallway, hidden behind a panel in the wall near the basement, was a door almost no one remembered existed. It had once led to storage, but I had turned it into my sanctuary years ago.

Inside was a small, windowless room filled with soft light from a lamp I’d salvaged. The walls were covered in canvases, sketches, watercolors—my secret world. Here, no one told me who I had to be. No one called me a mistake.

Only Nena knew about this place. She had found me crying here once when I was twelve, a blank canvas before me, tears falling faster than the strokes of my brush. She’d never told anyone. Not my parents, not even my brothers. It became our quiet pact.

I sat down in front of an unfinished painting. The colors were soft, blues bleeding into muted golds. It reminded me of a sky before dawn—the space between hope and heartbreak.

I painted for hours. The outside world faded. There was only the rhythm of brushstrokes and the sound of my breathing.

I didn’t know that at ten in the morning, Amara had called one of the maids.

“Go check on Alina,” she said with a yawn. “Make sure she’s not plotting something again. You know how she is.”

The maid, hesitant but obedient, knocked on my door. When no answer came, she entered and found the room empty. Quietly, she closed the door and walked away, but not before reporting the news back to Amara.

“She’s not in her room,” the maid said quietly.

Amara’s face lit up. “Tell mother.”

The maid swallowed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Amara smoothed her hair, smiling. “Mother will want to know. Trust me.”

Obedient again, the maid turned and walked away, heading to my mother, who was the only one home now that our grandparents had gone back to the city.

And all the while, I was in the hidden room, painting my heart onto a canvas no one else would ever see.

By five in the afternoon, I had completed three new pieces. My arms ached, my back was stiff, but I felt lighter. For a moment, I had escaped. For a moment, I was free.

But that peace wouldn’t last long. I had unknowingly committed another sin in their eyes: I had disappeared without permission. And Amara, ever watchful, had already set the wheels in motion.