Alina’s POV
It’s been a month since Aunty Cynthia passed away.
A month, and yet the house still smells like grief whenever I think of her. Maybe it’s just in my head—how the scent of her jasmine perfume lingers in my memory, how her laughter still echoes faintly whenever I close my eyes. Reynold hasn’t fully recovered. He barely speaks, but Zayn visits him almost every day, and that gives me a sliver of comfort.
What I can’t stop thinking about is my mom.
Dad says she’s been… unresponsive. Not sick, not asleep—just absent. Like she’s trapped somewhere grief won’t let her leave. Aunty Cynthia was her best friend. Practically her sister. Losing her must have cracked something deep inside Mom.
Dad keeps calling, asking me to visit, but I know my presence won’t help. She hates me—or at le
