Page 37 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
She looked down at her hands, pale against the worn purple robe. The frayed sleeves brushed her knuckles and her fingers twisted the worn fabric.
Then she inhaled slowly, as if drawing breath for the plunge. "Do you remember the Kosovo War? Back in the nineties?"
Crispin's brows drew together, uncertain about the change in subject
"I was very young," she continued, her eyes seeing a faraway time. "Lule wasn't even born when the rumblings started."
And then she told him everything...
Chapter 22
Aria
"I was nine," Aria said quietly, her fingers curling into the worn edge of her robe. "We lived just outside Gjakova, in a two-storey house near the edge of town. It wasn't much, but it was ours. All my aunties and uncles lived nearby.
"I remember thinking the whole world smelled like stew and sawdust. Back then, I didn't like that smell. My mother was in the kitchen that night-she made stuffed peppers, the way her mother taught her, with spiced rice and lamb and mint. And bread. Always bread, warm and soft, wrapped in a tea towel."
Her voice softened. "My father came home later than usual. He smelled like wood glue and sweat, his shirt always brown from the sawdust in the shop. He was quiet that evening. Said something was happening in a village nearby, men whispering about roadblocks and disappearances. But I didn't really understand. I just remember how he kissed my forehead and looked tired." She blew out a shaky breath.
"The house had creaky stairs and handwoven rugs. We had grapevines curling along the fence and a fig tree in the back that I used to climb, even when they told me not to. You could hear the bells of the Hadum Mosque at midday, drifting through the streets."
"Sometimes, on Fridays," she continued, her eyes distant, "we'd walk to the Çarshia e Madhe-the old bazaar. The stone under my sandals would be warm, and my mother's hand was always wrapped around mine so I wouldn't get lost in the colours. There were stalls of fabric, copper pots, dates, and roasted chestnuts. The shopkeepers would laugh and call mebukuroshja vogël, little beauty. I believed them."
She gave a small, broken laugh. "I thought Gjakova was the biggest city in the world. I thought the world ended at the river, where the Krena flowed past the stone bridge."
She glanced at Crispin, almost apologetically. "I didn't know about borders yet...or war. All that I took for granted changed that night."
"My mother had a voice like honey on toast-soft, slow, and always tired." She blinked. "But the night the soldiers came, there was no voice. Just shelling. Windows rattling and bursting. I remember someone's TV screaming the national anthem."
Her hands twisted in her robe. "My brother, Erjon, was fourteen. He dragged me out of bed. He put a hand over my mouth and whispered, 'Stay quiet.' The three hid in the cupboard in my room when we heard the door being broken down. The cupboard had a false panel where we used to hide during games of hide and seek. Lule was already asleep. She was three. She didn't wake."
"They opened the cupboard once," she said flatly, "but didn't find the panel. Then they left."
Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "We stayed hidden for hours. I had to pee, but Erjon told me to be quiet. So, I just...went."
There was silence as she got lost in the memory, her eyes glassy. "We heard the footsteps. Someone was shouting orders. Something scraped against the floorboards, probably guns. I heard my mother screaming, and then it all stopped."
Crispin's breath hitched, but he said nothing.
" Erjon went to the window once we were sure they were gone. I tried to follow, but he turned and hugged me and whispered, 'No. Don't look. Promise me, you won't look.'" Her eyes glittered bright, but the tears didn't spill. "But I didn’t keep my promise."
"Days later, when the house stank of old milk and something sourer, I looked. Their bodies were in the courtyard. My Mami and Babi left there to rot. Flies were buzzing." She inhaled sharply. "I never told Erjon what I saw."
Crispin was silent, utterly still.
"We stayed there, rationing biscuits. We were terrified to leave. The water lines had been blown. One night, Erjon went for water, just down the road. I was watching Lule when the door creaked open." She closed her eyes. "It wasn't Erjon."
Her next words were flat. Dead.
"He was a stranger, and he looked...wrong. Hungry."
She seemed to look through Crispin now, as if lost in a terrifying memory.
"I tried to run, but I was very small for my age. He caught me."
A beat.
"I don't remember much. Maybe it is a mercy, not remembering being raped. I remember screaming, and he hit me on the head. I thought I would die. I was in and out of consciousness, I think. Lule was screaming. And then Erjon was shaking me. He had hit that man with a pot, again and again."
