As days passed, I slowly started getting used to school, but my heart was still at home. I always waited for the final bell to ring so I could run back to my parents. For me, school was not a place of learning then — it was just a place I had to stay until I could go home again.
I didn't talk much with other children. I liked sitting quietly and watching everything around me. Sometimes I missed my mother so much that my eyes filled with tears without any reason. Even the teachers noticed how silent I was.
At home, everything felt different. My mother's voice, my father's smile, and the laughter of my brother and sister made me feel complete. I would tell them small stories about my day, even if nothing special had happened.
At night, before sleeping, my father used to sit beside me and talk softly. Those moments made me feel safe. I never knew then how precious those simple days were.
Time moved slowly, but my childhood was building memories without me realizing it.