Fathan sat on the living room sofa, enjoying his fried banana. His young mind was suddenly pulled back to the dark nights in this quiet house. Nights when the gentle, loving figure of Mom had suddenly vanished, replaced by a stranger consumed by a storm of blind panic.
Fathan still remembered clearly how the bedroom door had been pounded on, the hysterical sobbing that shattered the silence, and the look in his mom's eyes, blazing with a mixture of fear and rage. In the corner of the room, little Fathan could only curl up and hug his knees behind Auntie Nyai's trembling back as she tried to protect him.
"The world is evil, Auntie! Everyone out there wants to hurt my child!" Raina had screamed then in a high, desperate voice, yanking at the window curtains as if she wanted to lock the entire outside world away.
"Ina, say istighfar. Calm down. Auntie Nyai's here. No one can hurt Fathan here," Auntie Nyai coaxed, her voice catching as she tried to restrain Raina's constantly trembling hands.
But Raina couldn't hear her then. Her breathing was ragged, and her eyes were wide as she stared at Fathan, who had shrunk back in fear.
"Don't let him be exposed to the outside world! Don't let him leave the house!" Raina roared again, pointing sharply at Fathan as her chest heaved. "Fathan! Are you listening to Mom? Do what Mom says! There are only bad people out there who will abandon you and destroy you!"
Those words were seared so deeply into Fathan's mind. They became an invisible barbed-wire fence that made him weigh every step, frightening him even when all he wanted to do was set foot in the yard. Fathan was afraid of the outside world, but he was even more afraid of seeing his mom fall apart again because of him.
"Fathan..." Raina's soft voice shattered the flashback. "Yes, Mom?" "Why are you spacing out? Are the bananas good?" "They're good, Mom. Fathan missed your cooking."
Raina gave him a faint smile, the kind of warm smile that always made little Fathan's chest feel safe. She reached out and brushed the crumbs of batter from the corner of Fathan's mouth with her thumb, then smoothed down a stray lock of her son's messy hair.
"Finish them, okay? Then go take a bath." "Okay, Mom." Fathan obediently nodded and took another bite of the warm fried banana in his hand.
However, when Raina stood and walked back toward the kitchen, Fathan noticed how frail his mother’s shoulders looked. The slow way his mom walked and the way her gaze occasionally went blank again made little Fathan chew more slowly. In this quiet house, Fathan learned one thing: his mom's peace of mind was both precious and fragile.
Through the living room window, Fathan's gaze was once again flung toward the central yard. The porch light at Bunda Ayu's house across the way was already shining brightly, casting a warm yellow glow over the grass. Faintly, the sound of children's laughter drifted from over there.
Fathan lowered his head and stared at his plate. There was an unspoken confusion in his chest. Why was the house across the way always so lively and bright, while his own home felt so quiet and full of secrets he didn't dare ask about?
"Fathan, don't space out again, sweetheart." Auntie Nyai's voice, newly arrived with a glass of water, broke through his daze.
The middle-aged woman sat beside Fathan and gently rubbed his back—a touch that always served as an anchor whenever the boy's thoughts began wandering too far. Fathan looked at Auntie Nyai, then smiled faintly as he finished the last bite of fried banana.
"Auntie, Fathan wants to ask something. Why does Mom always get quiet when Dad comes home? Fathan's happy when Dad comes home," Fathan's innocent question left Auntie Nyai silent.
"Mom's happy when Dad comes home too. It's just that she's really tired right now, so she has trouble expressing how she feels."
"Oh, so she's happy too? Like earlier, when she laughed because Fathan didn't know that child's name?"
"That's right. All right. Now go take a bath, okay?"