The wind was strong; with it came the sharp smell of the sea. It stung her nose. Beneath it lingered the smell of dead fish—something that Suli had learnt to tolerate since she moved to the coast. The night was hot and damp. She tried to sleep, but the fan beside her barely stirred the air. Sleep was impossible. Mosquitoes fed on her blood, their incessant whining driving her mad; she didn’t want to give in and get out of bed, admitting defeat. She was determined to stay in bed until sleep came.

The house was quiet, the sound of the ocean the only thing breaking through the silence. If someone had told her she’d leave the city for the coast, it would have been a joke to her, something to laugh at. Yet, here she was, adjusting to a pace of life so different from what she was used to. A new home. A new job. A new Suli. A life no one from the city would think to look for.

Her mind drifted, as it sometimes did at night, toward the thing that had driven her from Nairobi. She shut her eyes and forced the thought away, breathing slowly until the tightness in her chest eased. A new beginning. She would not waste it by clinging to the past.
“You are safe,” she murmured.

A low moan floated down the hallway. Suli sighed, pushed the sheet aside, and slipped her feet into her slippers. So much for sleep. The belt of her robe loosened as she knocked and stepped into the room. Mrs Hamisi twisted in the bedsheets, caught in another nightmare. Her breathing was uneven, her fingers clawing at the blanket.
“Tara…”
The name came out in a whisper.
“Mrs Hamisi, you have to wake up now. It is Suli. You have to wake up.”
She wheeled her wheelchair closer; they didn’t need the whole house waking up.
She gently tapped her, and the moaning and writhing stopped. She opened her eyes, looking disoriented.
“It’s okay, Mrs Hamisi. I’m here. It’s time for our nighttime stroll. I’ll help you to your chair. Is that okay?”
She nodded and took the hand that Suli offered.

Getting her settled did not take long, and she was soon pushing the wheelchair along the little path that led to their slice of the ocean. The roar of the ocean was louder. The wind slapped them in the face, wiping away any traces of sleep. The moon hung bright and low. Suli tucked the blanket more securely around Mrs Hamisi’s legs. The air was warm, but the wind carried a chill. Salt clung to her tongue.

Mrs Hamisi loved the sea; she said it played her favourite song in the world, and whenever she had nightmares, the sound seemed to calm her.
“Tara… forgive me.”
Suli crouched beside her, holding her hand. Mrs Hamisi’s face was wet with tears. She sometimes forgot names, but she had never mistaken Suli before.
“Mrs Hamisi,” Suli said gently, “I’m Suli.”
The woman blinked.
“Suli…”
“Yes.”
“You have to help me,” Mrs Hamisi whispered. “The sea took her. It took her.”
Suli frowned. “Who did it take?” The grip on her hand tightened painfully.
“The sea took her,” Mrs Hamisi said again. “And I helped it.”
Suli stilled.

“I did a terrible thing,” the old woman whispered. “Now she’ll come back. I know she will.”
“Mrs Hamisi—”
“I have to leave before she does.”
The words tumbled out faster now.
“I need to die.”
Suli tried to pull her hand free. The woman’s eyes were wide and frantic.

For a moment, something cold moved through Suli. The desperation in that voice, the certainty of punishment creeping closer, felt too familiar. The memory rose before she could stop it. Not here. Not now.

“You have to help me die,” Mrs Hamisi said.
Suli jerked her hand away. She lost her balance and dropped onto the sand. The shock of it snapped her back into the present. Why would she ask her that? What had Mrs Hamisi seen in her?

Suli stood quickly and began pushing the chair back toward the house. The wind felt louder now. The waves crashed against the shore in an endless rhythm.
“Don’t say things like that,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. “You’ll feel better after some sleep.”

By the time they reached the house, her hands were shaking. Inside, she helped Mrs Hamisi back into bed. The woman lay quietly now, as if she hadn’t said those words. Suli glanced at the nightstand. Pill bottles lined the surface. Among them sat a small bottle of morphine. She turned away, adjusted the air conditioner, and closed the door. Her hand lingering on the doorknob. Back in her own room, she lay awake for hours. Each time she drifted toward sleep, the memory tugged at her again—the same one she had tried so hard to outrun. Near morning, she had finally drifted off.

A scream ripped through the house. Suli jolted awake and rolled off the bed, hitting the floor. Another scream followed. It came from Mrs Hamisi’s room—but it wasn’t her voice. Nila, the housekeeper.

Nila always brought breakfast at eight. Footsteps and shouting spread through the house. Suli stayed where she was on the floor, her breath shallow. Something had happened. She knew it without seeing it. Still, she didn’t move.

Outside, the sea had quieted.
She listened for it.
She missed the sound of it already.
She missed the song of the sea.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by zero take on Unsplash