In the spacious living room of a single-family house, a phone rested on the table beside the window. A video song—Titi Kamal’s Rindu Semalam—played softly.
Another voice echoed through the house, not quite blending with the lyrics. In the center of the room, a teenage girl mopped the floor. Her feet danced to the rhythm, waist swaying, her dress flowing along. She smiled, singing along without knowing the lyrics properly.
Sweat glistened on her forehead, her breath uneven as she worked and sang. Her trousers were rolled up to her calves, hands wet up to her elbows.
Suddenly, the gate creaked open. She froze, quickly rushing to the table to turn off the music. The screen went dark. She resumed mopping—like nothing had happened. The hall door opened. Her parents had arrived. She peeked up like a guilty thief.
Seeing that they hadn’t caught her, a quiet sigh escaped her lips, followed by a soft smile to herself. Her mind drifted back...
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Flashback:
In the sit-out hall, the ceiling fan creaked softly, moving neither fast nor slow. Sunrays filtered through the window, touching the floor gently. Alongside the soft creaks of the fan and a sewing machine's hum, an English song—Living Hell—played in the background.
The girl sat stitching, humming along to the music. A small smile danced on her lips whenever she got the lyrics right, and a light pout formed when she got them wrong. A few loose strands of hair fell over her face as she swayed gently to the beat.
Suddenly, a cold voice cut through the peaceful moment, followed by a mild scolding tone from the bedroom.
“Why are you listening to these songs? Do they even have any meaning? You should be listening to motivational speeches or traditional music instead.”
The girl’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes shimmered, tears threatening to fall, but she held them back—tilting her head up and taking a slow breath before exhaling through her lips.
“Okay,” she replied softly, her voice trembling at the edges.
She paused the music and quietly resumed stitching. A few moments later, a small, faint smile appeared—just like the one she wore now.
Back to the present —
She exhaled slowly and returned to mopping the floor, her shoulders slightly hunched, the rhythm of the music lingering only in her memory.
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