chapter 8 Her thoughts
539 Words
Aria’s feet dragged as she stepped back into the stifling heat of the kitchen. The faint smell of burnt food and dust clung to the walls, making her stomach churn. Her aunt’s eyes, sharp and demanding, followed her every movement.
“Finally,” her aunt snapped, crossing her arms. “I’ve been calling you for ages. Didn’t your arms get tired out there?”
Aria lowered her gaze, gripping the wet cloth in her hands. “N-no, aunty,” she whispered, her voice small.
Her aunt’s lips tightened. “Don’t mumble. Speak properly. You’re here to work, not to dawdle.”
She moved to the sink to rinse the clothes again, trying to ignore the weight in her chest. Every glance from her aunt felt like a needle pressing into her skin, sharp and unrelenting.
Aria wondered how long she could endure this—these long, silent hours of scrubbing, cleaning, and endless chores while the world outside seemed to belong to everyone but her. Her thoughts flickered to the brief moment with the neighbor, a small spark of warmth, quickly smothered by her aunt’s glare.
“Did you hear me?” her aunt barked, breaking her reverie.
“Yes, aunty,” Aria murmured, her hands trembling slightly as she wrung out the soaked cloth.
Her aunt’s footsteps echoed as she moved away, leaving Aria alone with the chores and the suffocating quiet.
The kitchen felt smaller once her aunt left.
Aria finished wiping the floor in silence, making sure no water remained. She checked twice, then a third time, before slowly standing. Her knees ached from kneeling on the hard tiles, but she welcomed the pain—it was easier than thinking.
She carried the basin back to the sink and resumed washing, slower now, more careful. Every sound made her flinch. The scrape of fabric. The drip of water. Even her own breathing felt too loud.
Her mind drifted despite her efforts.
She thought about the outside. The way the air felt cooler there. Freer. She thought about how the world beyond this house continued moving, living, while she stayed stuck in the same routine, day after day.
Sometimes she wondered if this was all she was meant for.
The thought scared her.
A strange warmth stirred faintly in her chest, brief and unfamiliar. Not anger. Not sadness. Something else. She pressed a hand lightly against herself, confused, but the feeling faded as quickly as it came.
She shook her head and focused again.
When the clothes were finally done, she hung them carefully in the small yard behind the house. The sky above was dull and gray, clouds hanging low. A breeze brushed her skin, and for a moment she closed her eyes and breathed it in.
Just a moment.
That was all she allowed herself.
“Aria.”
Her aunt’s voice cut through the air.
She stiffened and turned immediately. “Yes, aunty?”
“After this, you’ll clean the storage room,” her aunt said flatly. “And don’t think about resting. Dinner won’t make itself.”
Aria nodded. “Yes.”
As she followed her back inside, something deep within her shifted—quietly, almost imperceptibly.
Not rebellion.
But the beginning of awareness.
- Writer
