Once Upon a Time...THE HOUSE THAT FORGOT TO LAUGH...
Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time...THE HOUSE THAT FORGOT TO LAUGH... Once upon a time, in a calm little town where even the sky looked quiet, there lived a boy named Don Fire. He was sixteen years old and always looked serious, like he was thinking deeply. Don had lost his mother, and since then, nothing felt the same. His house was not loud anymore. It was full of silence, like something was missing. His father was there, but the love and laughter of his mother were gone. Because of that, Don became quiet. He didn’t talk much to anyone in school. His heart was full of sadness, but he never showed it outside.
Don’s father worked at a car repair garage. He was a silent man, even before, but his wife’s death made him even more silent. Every morning, he left home early and returned late at night. Don and his father shared the same roof, but not many words. Their conversations were short.
“Eat your food.”
“Homework done?”
“Sleep early.”
That was all. They were not angry with each other. But the sadness in the house had made both of them lonely in their own ways. It was not the kind of silence where you enjoy peace. It was the silence that comes from pain. From missing someone deeply.
Don’s daily routine never changed. He got up early, got ready for school, packed his bag quietly, and left the house. On the way to school, he crossed a small tea stall, an old banyan tree, and a narrow lane where children played. One of the shops he passed every day was a small bakery. His mother used to buy bread and buns from there. She always told him, “Fresh bread makes any day feel better.” Now he just looked at the shop and walked past it.
He wore his earphones all the time, even if there was no music playing. It helped him avoid conversations. People didn’t bother him, and that’s how he liked it. In school too, he remained quiet. He didn’t raise his hand in class, didn’t play during lunch breaks, and sat on the last bench. Most teachers didn’t question him much. They saw the sadness in his eyes. A few of them had tried to talk to him at the beginning, but Don gave short answers, and they eventually stopped trying.
His classmates used to wonder what happened to him. Some felt sorry. Some thought he was proud. But no one truly understood. Because Don never told anyone how much he missed his mother. He never told anyone that his heart felt empty and heavy at the same time. That he couldn’t laugh because his laughter used to belong to someone who wasn’t there anymore.
The house was filled with memories. Small things reminded Don of his mother. The corner of the living room where she used to sit and knit. The kitchen where she prepared his favourite food. The window where she stood every evening to watch the sunset while sipping tea. And the photo on the staircase wall—of the three of them, smiling together. That photo used to make Don happy. Now, he tried not to look at it.
His schoolbag still had a small keychain she gave him. His pencil box had a sticker she had put when he was in 5th standard. He didn’t remove it. He couldn’t. It felt like a part of her was still with him through these small things.
The nights were the worst. In the daytime, at least the world moved around him. But at night, everything stopped. He would lie on his bed and look at the ceiling. Sometimes he imagined his mother calling him for dinner. Sometimes he thought he heard her laugh. There were nights when he had dreams—short ones. In some, she was singing. In others, she was just sitting next to him, silent but smiling. He would wake up with wet eyes. But he never cried out loud.
There was one room in the house that remained closed most of the time—his mother’s room. It was just across the hall from his. His father didn’t go inside either. It was like both of them had made an unspoken rule to leave it as it was. But one day, when his father was not at home, Don walked toward that room. Something in his heart pulled him there.
He stood at the door, unsure. Slowly, he opened it. The door creaked slightly. The room was filled with soft light coming from the window. Everything was untouched. Her shawl was still hanging on the chair. Her books were still on the side table. Her slippers were neatly placed near the bed. The air in the room still had her mild perfume smell. Don sat down on the bed. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but being in that room made him feel close to her.
He opened the side drawer. There was an old wooden box inside. It looked familiar. He had seen his mother use it before. He took it out and opened it carefully. Inside were a few small things: a silver chain, a small notebook, and a folded letter with his name written on the top.
Don froze. He stared at the letter for a long time before picking it up. It was her handwriting. There was no doubt. He opened it slowly, and with trembling hands, began to read.
Don,
If you are reading this, it means I am no longer with you. But I know you are strong. Maybe you don’t feel it right now, but you are. I am always with you. Just close your eyes, and you will feel me.
Don’t keep everything inside you. Talk. Smile. Feel the air. Notice the birds. Watch the sky. Live, my child. Because life is still beautiful. You just have to look around.
I am so proud of you. Don’t ever forget that.
Love you always,
Mom
As he finished reading the letter, Don sat silently for a while. He didn’t cry, but something inside him began to move. A small feeling. A tiny light in the darkness. He folded the letter neatly and placed it back in the box.
That night, he didn’t wear his earphones. He sat near the window and watched the sky. It was quiet, but peaceful. He remembered his mother’s words from the letter. And for the first time in many days, he softly whispered, “Goodnight, Mom.”
He thought maybe she heard it.
