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ritual of bedtime stories
> Short stories > Relationships > When memories become a lesson

When memories become a lesson

One memory that always stayed with Anya was the ritual of bedtime stories with her elder sister Naira, who would narrate a story to her little sister every night at bedtime.

Naira was working on her college project, but her mind was somewhere else. She had another bad day, and all she wanted was to be alone. But her phone kept ringing, flashing Anya’s name for the seventh time. Frustrated and angry, she answered the call.

Losing her cool Naira snarled, “Anya, I don’t have time for your nonsense. I told you I am busy. I can’t keep talking to you all day. I am not nine and you are not four anymore.” She hung up without giving her sister a chance to speak.

Naira had moved to a new city for college, away from her family. Like any confused teenager, Naira wanted to be popular. She wanted to be ‘cool’. She wouldn’t even mention Anya to her friends because popular girls don’t talk about their family, especially if it includes an annoying younger sister.

Despite all of her attempts, Naira couldn’t become what she wanted to—someone everyone knew and admired. Eventually, Naira gave up her obsession to fit in.

After one long year, Naira went home. The house was empty when she reached. Her parents had left the keys with the neighbours and a message they would be back soon.

She was her whole world. As the two sisters chatted late into the night, Naira felt immense affection for her kid sister.

It was a walk down memory lane. Naira recalled their childhood days when Anya was like her shadow; she would copy Naira—the way she dressed to the way she talked and walked. She walked into her old room. To her surprise, it was exactly the way she had left it. The wall was covered with pictures of her and Anya. It was a walk down memory lane. Naira recalled their childhood days when Anya was like her shadow; she would copy Naira—the way she dressed to the way she talked and walked. But if there was one memory that stayed with her, it was the bedtime stories. Naira would narrate a story to her little sister at bedtime, and Anya would patiently wait for her no matter what. It was their little ritual.

Her reverie broke as Anya came running into the house and gave her the longest hug ever. She spoke about her friends, her school, and her plans for college. As they wrapped up dinner, Anya asked Naira if they could sit in her room and talk. Naira smiled, “Of course, we will.”

Anya could barely hold back her excitement. She practically worshipped her big sister. Naira was her role model, her hero. She was her whole world. As the two sisters chatted late into the night, Naira felt immense affection for her kid sister. What was I doing running away from her, shouting at her—Naira wondered wistfully? When you mean so much to someone, you don’t have to try to become anyone other than who you are.

Naira patted her sister as she sat by her side, picked up the book on the table, and started reading her a story just like the old days.

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