1. Ayah1
The rain is heavy outside, rays of sunlight reflecting off the deep puddles that run like rivers down the street. If anyone dared to cross it, they’d be soaked through at once. A year ago, on a stormy night like this, Dini ran away from home, slamming the door behind her. I should have called out to her, pleaded with her to come inside. I could have gone after her, fetched her back home.
I should have reached for her hand, pulled her close and wrapped her shivering body in a towel. I should have told her, ‘Here now, we can put this behind us. We were both angry. Please, forget what I said. Go take a bath before you catch a cold.’ And I can picture her smiling up at me, wiping away her tears.
That’s what I should have done, but it didn’t happen like that. Instead I just sat there, glued to my seat, lips tightly sealed as my fingers gripped the pipe I’d stopped smoking. I didn’t move to go after her, didn’t say a single thing to bring her back. Dini left and didn’t return, and hasn’t stepped foot in this house since that day.
I heard about her graphic design business from friends of hers I ran into at the market. I was glad to know it was going well, that a recent collaboration had paid off. But when it used to rain like this, back when Dini still came home to visit me, she would put out two glasses of sekoteng and snacks made by Bik Nah, our household help. We would sit together and talk, watching the downpour. Listening to the sound of rain was our secret hobby, our favourite pastime. We loved the atmosphere it created; how it was loud and intense, but also calming. Our conversation always ended up on the same topics: art, design, film, sometimes politics and education too.
We made a good team, Dini and I; we were alike in so many ways. What I’d give now to talk to her again, just the two of us watching the