I was woken up by the sound of sirens on the street. Quickly scrambling out of bed, I looked out of the window. Smoke surrounded the neighbourhood, reflecting the fire and chaos in one of the houses down the street. A crowd of people had gathered near the house, and their ‘hushed’ whispers reached the first floor where I stood, watching how quickly the flames were swelling.

Making my way out of my room, still in a daze from my broken sleep, I walked to the room adjacent to mine to inform my father about the situation. Understandably, both my parents were up, having been jolted out of sleep just like I had been.

“The fire…” I began, but was interrupted by my father.

“Yeah, the call has been made to the fire brigade. We’re going there to see if the family needs anything,” he informed me.

“I’ll come too,” I quickly added.

Reaching the site, I was surprised by the number of people gathered there and how small they had looked from my window. They surrounded who I supposed was the owner of the burning building, trying to console the unfortunate person. Soon enough, the fire brigade trucks arrived, with firefighters jumping off in full gear, pulling out equipment and asking if anybody was still inside.

As the flames came under control, exposing the damaged building, I could see that the destruction was greater than I had expected. It was upsetting to see an old woman cry as she stood there, watching her house, and probably many memories, go up in flames.

I slowly moved towards her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder in a comforting manner. Even though she hardly knew me, she clung to me like a baby holding on to something for safety.

My mind searched for any comforting words I could offer her. Obviously, I came up with nothing. Apparently, she was living by herself, as her son had moved out a few months ago because of his job. He had promised to take her with him as soon as he settled abroad. That’s what she told me later, once she had accepted what had happened and made herself comfortable in our guest bedroom.

“You should rest, aunty. It has been a long night for you.”

“Yes, my child. Thank you.”

“Please don’t. It’s my responsibility to help a neighbour,” I said, placing my hand comfortingly on top of hers before getting up to leave.

Closing the door behind me, I returned to my bedroom. I sat on my now cold bed and looked out of the window towards the site of the fire. Everything was calm now; only the building stood there — dark, soaked, and silent. Once bustling with life, it was now reduced to ashes and smoke. Yet, even in that tragedy, there was something comforting about how people had come together, neighbours helping neighbours, strangers turning into family in a moment of need. Life has a way of beginning again.

I took a deep breath, whispered a quiet prayer for the woman sleeping peacefully in our guest room, and smiled to myself.

Things break, burn, and fall apart, but somehow, they always find a way to rebuild.

Published in Dawn, Young World, November 8th, 2025