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Beyond spoken words
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Books and Rainy days 🌹🦋
Sample · Chapter One
Chapter OneThe night pressed heavily against the windowpane, and she leaned into it as if searching for answers in the scattered stars. Silence should have lived in that hour, but silence was a stranger here. From the other room came her father’s voice broken, wandering, circling around names that meant nothing to her.He was speaking again about his best friend. The friend he swore was closer than blood, the one he praised, cursed, argued with, and laughed at all in the same breath. She had grown up with this ghost in the house, this unseen companion whose footsteps never touched their floorboards. Sometimes she wondered if the man truly existed or if he was only another shape inside her father’s crumbling mind.Her father’s laughter cracked suddenly through the walls, sharp and strange. She pressed her forehead harder against the cold glass, closing her eyes. Beyond the spoken words, there was always something heavier something unspoken that pressed into her chest.She wanted to ask him, sometimes. To walk into his world of scattered syllables and ask, Who is this friend? Why does he matter more than the daughter standing before you? But she never did. She was afraid of the answer, or worse, the emptiness behind it.So instead, she listened. Night after night. The house alive with madness, and her heart alive with questions too heavy for a girl her age.Her mother never lived long enough to call her name. The story was told to her in whispers how her mother’s last cry in childbirth was the first sound she ever heard. Life and death arriving in the same breath.Her father was never the same again. People said grief chewed him from the inside out, and his mind never returned from that dark valley. From the day her mother was buried, he had not spoken of her again. Not once. Not a memory, not a slip of the tongue. It was as if silence had swallowed the woman whole, leaving only the echo of her absence.At first, she was raised in another woman’s arms Mai Anguwa’s wife. A soft, gentle woman who bathed her, rocked her, and sang songs to her when the nights grew too loud with her father’s madness. But before she reached her seventh birthday, even that small comfort was taken. Death came quietly, and Mai Anguwa’s wife never woke again from her sleep.So she returned to her father. By then, she was old enough to notice what other children had and what she did not. Her father was her world broken, unpredictable, filled with shadows and mutterings. Their little house was her kingdom, and madness was its crown.Mai Anguwa’s other wife took pity. Some evenings, she would press a small bowl of food into her hands, or Mai Anguwa himself would help with grain and salt to keep them fed. That little kindness carried them through many lean nights.It was in those years that s...
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