The Tidal Wave That Seized My Walls - Chapter 7

“Class is canceled today, ah….”

The teacher clicked her tongue, admitting she’d forgotten. I lifted my head and glanced at Sandora. If it were me, I’d have shrugged it off—but Sandora was drowning in sorrow. I couldn’t decipher her sadness. Why were her hands trembling? Why did she look like she’d shatter if touched?

“Even teachers make mistakes. And today’s already been rough. It’s fine.”

But Sandora swiftly smothered her expression with a smile. The flustered teacher called after her, but the girl bolted down the stairs like a gust of wind.

I didn’t see her again until after class. An unexpected encounter. There she was, standing in my spot—the wall I’d press my ear against, seeking quietude like some lonely ghost. Now Sandora leaned there too, mimicking my pose. But where I found calm, she seemed to be stomping on her own grief.

Once, I’d asked Grandfather: Did he truly see me as his granddaughter? Could I just be some stray with matching hair and eyes? Couldn’t Sandora be the real heir?

‘Iyara.’

‘Yes?’

‘Sandora cannot hear the wall’s voice.’

That was why Sandora—destined to be Yereka—had been stripped of her title so easily. Why my existence upended everything. An heir who couldn’t hear the wall was no heir at all.

The rest was predictable. Grandfather announced he’d found the Prophet. The Prophet declared Sandora was never the chosen one. All this barely a year ago. The moment he learned the truth, he tore through the household, digging until he uncovered the swapped children. By chance, Lady Widman found me, and Grandfather brought me here.

The wall’s voice was only for direct descendants. So—was it a mercy the wall hadn’t chosen Sandora?

Around the time I was watching Sandora, Grandfather and Mother were walking toward us from a short distance away. It was pure coincidence that the whole family had gathered in one place. The two of them stood before the wall, deep in conversation—close enough to Sandora that she should have been visible, yet somehow, they didn’t notice her. At first, their voices were muffled murmurs, but with each step I took closer, their words sharpened. I instinctively ducked behind a tree.

“I doubt anyone else would describe the wall’s voice the way she does.”

“Does she really love the sound that much?”

“Absolutely. She acts like she’s ready to live right up against it. Says she can hear the waves crashing, birds singing, even the sound of apples rolling after they fall.”

At Grandfather’s words, Mother smiled as if gazing at something precious. He chuckled warmly, then placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Just because she struggles to express it doesn’t mean she’s emotionless. ‘Resentment’? That’s absurd.”

“I might’ve resented it, if I were in her place.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. She’s got a heart as good as yours.”

Then, almost teasingly, Grandfather added:

“Though I’ll admit, that fiery temper of hers must’ve come from you.”

Mother laughed brightly at that. I hadn’t realized she paid me any mind—she’d always been distant, almost avoiding moments alone with me. We’d never even had a proper conversation. Most of her questions were just, Have you eaten? Had she kept her distance because she thought I might resent her?

For some reason, I didn’t want them to know I’d been here. I edged away carefully. And Sandora—she must’ve felt the same. She took a silent step back, her expression unreadable as she stood frozen, watching them.

I quietly hid among the bushes, only emerging after the three figures had disappeared. Springing to my feet, I approached the wall. Pressing my ear against its surface, I let my hands fall to my sides as I leaned my heart against the same wall that had just carried Mother’s tender voice.

What had Sandora been hoping to hear here? The wall offered no answers to my question.

* * *

Forks turned out to be more troublesome than I’d expected. It would’ve been far simpler to just grab food with my hands rather than stabbing at it with this thing. But when my teacher said, “If you want to live like a beast, then by all means continue,” I had no choice but to pick up the fork.

“The world must be turning upside down.”

Mother, seated across from me, chuckled softly. It was one of those bright summer days after the rain, and her hair seemed even redder under the sunlight.

“Your teacher must be quite strict with you.”

Flustered, I speared a rolling tomato with my fork. Mother rested her chin on her hand, watching me intently.

The truth was, my teacher never really “taught” me. Instead, she’d challenge me—daring me to prove I wasn’t just some back-alley stray. She’d say my manners were those of a half-trained animal, goading me with bets I couldn’t refuse, ones that pricked at my pride. I could’ve ignored her, but I didn’t.

I hadn’t meant to comply, yet her words nagged at me. And before I knew it, little by little, I’d started to become… civilized. The more I learned, the more I noticed—the elegant twist of Mother’s updo, the way she laughed without seeming frivolous, Grandfather’s deft hands wielding a knife, and Sandora, who was perfect in every way…

The more I saw of Sandora, the more I realized how much there was to learn. Sometimes, while reviewing what I’d been taught, I’d find myself breathless—only to hear that Sandora had already mastered it as easily as blowing her nose and moved on to higher things. It wasn’t so much frustrating as it was awe-inspiring.

My feelings about Sandora shifted with each passing day. At times, she seemed like a noble lady who existed only in my imagination; at others, she was coldly indifferent to anything outside her sphere of interest. And then, there were moments when she’d show unexpected fragility—or warmth.

I never once thought she had taken anything from me. After all, those were things I’d never considered mine to begin with. Yet sometimes, the envy cut deep—when I saw portraits of her spotless childhood, when I overheard nostalgic stories I couldn’t comprehend, when I watched her effortlessly charm difficult people, when I witnessed the tenderness she’d been raised with and realized it was cultivated from love.

All I had were rough edges. I didn’t understand why everyone looked at me with pity or guilt. Shouldn’t they be grateful? A street thief had her status overturned overnight. But after some time learning, I finally understood—that pity, as my teacher put it, was their way of shouldering the blame for my uncultured manners and speech as if it were their own failing.

So then I felt ashamed. My behavior was apparently so deplorable it warranted their guilt. But was I supposed to go around apologizing for every unlearned mistake? Besides, we’d been bound by the name “family” for less than three months. I didn’t know the meaning of blood relations, and they were too busy adjusting to me in their own way.

We needed time to understand each other. Mother was sharp-tempered and reserved, even with Grandfather—never one for affectionate expressions. Always busy, always coming and going. My teacher called her “overflowing with sociability,” explaining that as Yereka’s partner, she had to manage people inside and out. She’d taken on duties meant for my late father, leaving her with little time to spare.

Grandfather, on the other hand, seemed genial. He’d resumed his role as family head after my father’s passing, and though he appeared occupied supporting Mother, I often crossed paths with him in the estate. His questions—about which foods suited my palate, whether I was uncomfortable—were laced with concern. I wasn’t foolish enough to miss that.

Not that Mother and Grandfather ever laughed hand-in-hand with me in some picture-perfect moment. But I felt they were family—in the way our eyes shared the same shape, how our noses wrinkled identically when we smiled. Each resemblance struck me with wonder. Before, I’d thought people were simply born different. How much could parents and children really resemble each other?

“Sandora.”

Mother’s gaze was fixed on Sandora. Only then did I look at the seat beside me, where she sat drinking nothing but water.

“Has your appetite left you?”

“Yes.”

Sandora rose from her seat. Though bewildered looks from Mother and Grandfather followed her, she walked away as if unaware of them.

“Sandora.”

“I’m fine.”

She replied before Grandfather’s words had even settled in the air, then disappeared outside, trailing storm clouds over her head. Silence pooled in the space she left behind. Mother’s worry was palpable—Sandora hadn’t looked well to begin with, and now this.

“Iyara.”

I set down the greens I’d been chewing.

“Yes?”

Mother gnawed at her lower lip before speaking to me.