The next day came slow and quiet, the kind of silence that sits heavy on the chest after a night full of noise and flashing lights. The MusicFest memories still lingered in my head — the cheers, the crowd, Arthur Nery's voice echoing through the open sky — but my body had other plans. I woke up at 2 PM, groggy, with the curtains barely keeping the afternoon sun from stabbing my eyes. My day off — at last.
I sat on the edge of the bed for a while, stretching, before deciding to be productive. "Laundry first," I muttered, forcing myself to move. My voice sounded dull even to me. The small room felt too still — only the sound of the washing machine breaking the silence.
As I folded some shirts, I caught my reflection in the mirror. "You look older, Noira," I whispered, then laughed softly. "Or maybe just tired."
From the kitchen, Aunt Josephine called out, "You're up late again! You'll mess up your body clock!"
"I already did, Auntie!" I shouted back, smiling. "I think it's broken beyond repair."
She laughed. "Then at least fix your face — you look like someone who lost a fight with the night!"
I shook my head, amused, as I continued folding. By the time the last batch was hanging, I sat back on my bed, scrolling my phone. Notifications blinked, but I ignored them. Instead, I went straight to the gallery.
My phone popped up a suggestion: *Cleanup time!* It showed old photos and videos — some ready to delete, some too precious to part with. I sighed and started the slow process of swiping through memories.
The first video was of Neven — my little boy. His giggles filled the room, small and innocent, like sunlight breaking through cracks. He was clapping his tiny hands, face smeared with bits of mashed banana.
My chest tightened. "You're growing too fast, baby," I whispered. "Mama's missing everything."
I pressed my palm against my heart, as if I could hold the ache there, steady it.
Aunt Josephine peeked from the doorway. "Still looking at videos again?"
I nodded. "Yeah. He's walking now. Noah sent a video last week."
She leaned on the doorframe. "You're doing this for him, remember? Don't let guilt eat you alive."
"I know," I said quietly. "But sometimes knowing isn't enough."
She sighed, sitting beside me. "When I was your age, I left my daughter too — for work abroad. She hated me for years, thought I abandoned her. But when she grew up, she understood. You'll see. Neven will too."
I nodded again, but my eyes were fixed on the screen — on the small boy who once fit in my arms. "It's just… you can't have both, right?" I murmured. "Being there and giving the best for them. You always lose something."
"Always," Aunt Josephine agreed softly. "But that's the price of love — you pay with absence sometimes."
---
I swiped again, and another memory appeared — this time from college.
The video was shaky, laughter in the background, the camera pointing at me awkwardly while I sat at a long table surrounded by familiar faces. It was the Student Government Council's orientation day.
"Oh my God," I muttered, grinning. "This was years ago."
In the video, Dan — my co-representative from Agriculture — was being his usual chaotic self. He had a spoon in hand, waving it dramatically.
"Hey Noira!" his voice boomed from the video. "Do you want me to feed you?"
Everyone burst out laughing — even me, trying to hide my red face behind my hands.
In the present, I couldn't help laughing too. "You idiot," I whispered fondly.
Then came Drielle, soft-spoken and gentle, sitting beside Dan. "Dan, stop it, you're embarrassing her!"
"Oh, come on!" Dan said, grinning in the video. "We're just breaking the ice! Right, Noira? You love me already, don't you?"
"Love you my—" my younger self stammered, laughing nervously. "Stop teasing me!"
The video shook again as the girl filming laughed uncontrollably.
Watching it now, I could still remember how it felt — the awkwardness of being around new people, the hesitant laughter, the way their warmth slowly chipped away my walls.
I sighed and whispered to the video, "You both made college bearable, you know that?"
My phone buzzed suddenly — a message from an old group chat: *SGC Alumni — Still Alive 😂*.
I blinked, surprised. Dan had just sent a meme.
**Dan:** "Remember when I tried to feed Noira rice in front of the whole council? 😂😂"
**Jouie:** "Tried? You almost shoved the spoon into her nose!"
**Me:** "Correction: You *did* shove it! I almost died!"
**Dan:** "At least you smiled that day! You were so stiff like a robot during orientation!"
**Drielle:** "That's true! You looked like you wanted to vanish!"
**Me:** "I *did* want to vanish! You two were too much!"
**Dan:** "But you loved us anyway 😏"
**Me:** "Yeah, maybe I did. Just a little."
I laughed softly, nostalgia wrapping around me like an old blanket.
After a few moments, Jouie — our old Council President — sent a voice note. His voice was still calm, gentle.
"Hey guys, seeing all these old videos… it makes me miss those times. Remember what I always said? Don't rush growing up. I think I finally understand why our teachers told us that."
His tone made everyone go quiet for a while. Then Dan replied, "Man, adulting sucks."
"Tell me about it," I texted. "Bills, responsibilities, deadlines — I'd trade it all just to have one more lunch break in the old council room."
"Same," Drielle replied. "Back when our biggest problem was printing budget requests."
Jouie reacted with a heart emoji. Then he added, "I'm proud of you guys, really. We made it somehow."
---
I put my phone down and stared at the ceiling. The echoes of laughter — the digital kind — still lingered in my head.
I thought about what Jouie said. *Don't rush growing up.*
They were right.
When you're young, you think adulthood means freedom — the ability to decide for yourself, to earn, to live your own life. But no one tells you that it also means carrying the weight of everything: the dreams you abandoned, the people you lost, the child you can't hold every night.
I sighed deeply. "Life's a trade," I whispered to myself. "Always has been."
The sun was already setting by then, painting the walls with a faint orange glow. Aunt Josephine knocked softly. "Dinner?"
"In a bit," I said.
"Don't let it get cold. You need energy for another round of adulting tomorrow," she joked, her voice fading down the hall.
I smiled faintly and returned to my phone.
The last photo that appeared wasn't of Neven or my friends. It was a blurry selfie — me, Noah, and baby Neven, taken before I left for the city. I could still remember how Noah's arm felt heavy on my shoulder, how Neven's small hand clutched my finger.
I whispered to the screen, "I hope someday, when he grows up, he'll understand why Mama had to leave."
And as if answering me, a message from Noah appeared.
**Noah:** "He was saying 'Mama' again today. He saw your picture."
My throat tightened. **Me:** "Really?"
**Noah:** "Yeah. He pointed at the photo and smiled. You're his world, Noira."
Tears gathered in my eyes. I typed slowly, *"Tell him I love him every day."*
**Noah:** "I already do."
---
Later that night, I went outside the small balcony, the city lights stretching endlessly below. The cool air brushed my face as I hugged myself.
The world looked so big from here — and I felt so small, just one tired mother trying to make sense of her choices.
Then my phone buzzed again.
**Dan:** "Hey, Noira. You still up?"
**Me:** "Yeah. Can't sleep."
**Dan:** "Same. I was just thinking… remember when we used to complain about student council work? Now I'd give anything to go back."
**Me:** "Right? Back then, we thought the stress was unbearable."
**Dan:** "Turns out, real life's the final exam."
**Me:** "And I'm barely passing."
**Dan:** "You're doing fine. You've always been the strong one, even when you didn't think so."
I smiled, wiping a tear.
**Me:** "Thanks, Dan. That means a lot."
**Dan:** "Anytime, babe. And hey — next time you're in town, let's all meet up again. Just like old times."
I stared at his message for a while before replying.
**Me:** "I'd like that. Maybe then I'll laugh without missing someone."
---
When I finally lay down to sleep, I placed my phone beside me, the faint sound of Neven's laughter playing again from a saved clip.
His voice was small, but it filled the room.
And for the first time that day, I smiled without forcing it.
Because even if life was heavy, even if distance kept me apart from those I loved — I still had the echoes, the laughter, the whispers of the past reminding me that I was once happy… and could be again.
---
(A chapter of nostalgia, motherhood, and quiet strength — where the past reminds the present that love endures, even through distance.)