Christmas arrived, as it always did, wrapping the city in a blanket of festive lights and familiar carols. For the years following Zayan's death, Anisa had forced herself to go through the motions, returning to her family home to celebrate with her parents and Kirana. It was a bittersweet tradition, performed out of duty and a faint hope for normalcy. đź—»
This year, however, was different. When her mother called, Anisa offered a rehearsed excuse: work at the studio had piled up, deadlines were looming, and she simply couldn't get away. She heard the palpable disappointment in her mother's voice and could imagine Kirana's concerned frown. Yet, the truth was deeper and simpler: her heart wasn't in it. The mental and emotional energy required to don a festive smile and pretend felt like a mountain she could not climb. The studio, for all its painful associations, felt like a more honest refuge.
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And so, the Manalo family Christmas proceeded as a gathering of three. Mr. and Mrs. Manalo, with Kirana by their side, attended the midnight mass, their prayers feeling somehow incomplete. They decorated the tree, the familiar ornaments twinkling with memories of a fuller household. They prepared the feast, the aromas of roasted meat and sweet pastries filling the home with a warmth that somehow accentuated the chill of an empty chair at the table. 🍗
Laughter was shared, gifts were exchanged, and carols were sung. But throughout the day, in the quiet moments between the festivities, a shared, unspoken feeling lingered. There was a distinct hollowness to their celebration, a space where Anisa's presence should have been.
Her absence was a silent guest at their table, a reminder of the fractures that loss and betrayal had carved into their family, fractures that not even the spirit of Christmas could fully mend. 🌬