It was half past midnight when I faintly heard a knock on my bedroom door. I was, admittedly, too busy finishing the last of my term requirements to even hear the sound. I dismissed it at first—the house was kind of old and made weird sounds, especially deep into the night. Creaky walls and all. It might’ve been the dogs, too. They liked sleeping against the doors when they felt everyone was well-guarded and safe. It was then I felt a tap on my shoulder—heavy and impatient with contact. With a sleepy clumsiness, I turned around, pleasantly surprised to see my sister awake at this time.
“You should really stop working, Lina,” Ayla said. Her hand pushed forward to close my laptop—the blue light no longer illuminating our faces. “Term break is for resting—not stressing.”
I remember huffing and pushing her away to at least save my work before properly shutting it off. “You could’ve cost me two hours' worth of thesis work.”
“Thesis—schmesis,” she mimicked as she sat down on my bed. My stuffed animals bounced along with the sudden weight on the mattress—tumbling down from their organized posts. “It still doesn’t make sense why you’re doing it in the first place.”
“Well, I have to be ready for when school starts again,” I said with a big stretch. I let out a pained groan with each pop of strained bone and stiff muscle. “Gotta get my head in the game, y’know.”
Ayla always rolled her eyes when I got too caught up in my head—in worries, stress, and pretty much everything else that didn’t equate to happiness. She reached for one of the plush toys—a fluffy husky dog that I’ve had since I was little—and shoved it toward my face.
“You hungry, Lina-Lina?” she asked me in that silly voice, deep and mischievous. “Let’s go get food! I’m hungry-hungry!”
I recall laughing at how stupid she sounded. How easily she could rope me into things that would certainly get us in trouble with Mama and Papa. I acted as if thinking her offer over, finger-tapping aggressively over my chin with a really loud ‘hmm.’
“Are there even any places open now?”
“Hey! I asked you if you were hungry,” Ayla tossed the plushie over her shoulder and stood up. At this angle, I already saw the keys dangling from her pocket—Superman keychain and all. “Not where we’re eating.”
“Come on!” She egged me on, waving her hand around. “Put your jacket on. We’ll just buy some extra food for mama and papa for their breakfast.”
Without another word, I threw on my jacket and followed Ayla out the door. Our silent steps hurried down the stairs, where I almost tripped over one of the dogs. The house keys jingled as we bolted out and onto her motorcycle—the night air far colder than we expected it to be. I can still feel the laughter bubbling underneath our effort to keep quiet, and the way she buckled the too-big helmet on my head.
The roads were empty at the time, with the occasional sleeper bus passing us by on its journey to the city kilometers away. Ayla brought me to one of those hole-in-the-wall places—the store reeked of beer and sweet pastries. She always knew how to find little secrets like these. The walls were decorated with stickers and photos of the owner’s family, while others added their own memories. The chairs and tables were all mismatched, potted plants scattered around, with snuffed-out cigarettes on their soil.
Ayla was always the one to find solace in joints like these—it suited her. I sometimes envied her for it. But the thought slipped my mind when she turned to me with a glass of freshly-blended mango shake and a coffee in hand.
“Let’s sit over there,” she called and motioned over her shoulder. And the sky seemed alive as it peeked through the draped and dirtied fabric of the patio. “Nice, right?”
“You’re always escaping somewhere, I swear,” I told her with a scoff. I remember taking note of how Ayla looked in this moment, every bit of the secretive sister, always off on her own haunts and adventures. It was a privilege to finally be let in on her world after so many years of walls put up. “And you’re always discovering really cool hole-in-the-wall spots like this.”
“My adventures—my trophies,” she replied in that smug tone, taking a sip from her latte. And maybe Ayla always noticed how I had been locking myself away in my room—always doing my requirements as an excuse to deal with the looming future before us. I even recalled the sharp flick she gave to my straw—the mango shake splattering over my jacket. I remember being mad over it. Annoyed at how out of the blue it was, but looking back, maybe it was her way of snapping me out of the cloud of grief.
“Talk, Lina-Lina,” Ayla had said to me. “Before your head explodes-explodes.”
I was never one for talking—neither was she, really. But when it was only us, two sisters, two girls, two people, it felt easier. “I’m still mad I helped make your application abroad.”
We laughed, of course. It always helped cover how quickly the months approached her departure. “I don’t know—I always thought we’d stay in the same country, that you’d only be a drive away, and I never really considered the day you’d get an accent.”
Ayla sighed at my confession. The tilt of her head revealed the softness behind her usually self-assured demeanor. The silence stretched for a moment at the vulnerability of it all before I broke it. “Selfish youngest-sibling things, I know.”
“Lina, it's not selfish,” she reached over for my hand. “If anything, I might be the one who's… selfish—accepting it without…second thought. I mean, I tried to argue, but—I really didn’t mean to add to your pile, especially when you’re still figuring things out.”
This time, I was the one who sighed. It made me think how odd it was that I was already mourning Ayla when she was still right in front of me. It made me realize how none of us were selfish for ever wishing otherwise. How unfair the circumstances were.
“Your dreams are far from this, you know,” I murmured like a last-ditch effort could change things.
Ayla blinked one too many times, to hold back tears that I knew never fell in front of anyone. So, I squeezed her hand—maybe a bit too tightly, which made her laugh at the sudden strength of it.
“I’ll make new ones,“ she said. “I usually do anyway.”
I remember my own bittersweet laughter and the sharp pat of her hand on mine before she pulled away.
“I’ll make good with what you left me with, Ayla-Ayla.”
“Yeah,” she nodded with finality, like a decision now set in stone. “I know you will, Lina-Lina.”
