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The Night of Numbers by Nusaybah P.
My brother, Sami, doesn't really sleep. The night sort of belongs to him.When everyone else on our street is sound asleep dreaming, our house is still awake. You can hear Sami - soft humming at first, then louder, rising and falling like he's talking to the dark.Mum and Dad have to stay up with him, sometimes taking it in turns, like always. They don't get overwhelmed anymore, just accept that this is the way it is. The lights stay low, a bit of music playing from the corner. Dad rubs his feet in slow circles. He never rushes. Mum hums along, sometimes out of tune. The sound fills the room, quiet and warm.Sami doesn't use many words, but his voice is never still. A long hum means he's calm. A squeal means happy. When he comes to school with me, people stare at the sounds and the way his hands flap when he laughs. Sami doesn't mind. He never does. He rocks on his feet, smiling, counting something only he can see - one, two, three; one, two, three, four. His rhythm, his rules.When the world feels too noisy, he goes back to his word-search books. Mum buys them in stacks - animals, space, superheroes. He sits like a tiny old man, pencil spinning in his fingers. You can hear the scratch of the lead and his quiet humming, like they belong together. The chewed pencil edge shows the level of thinking required. When its particularly hard, there's smudge marks on his fingers.He loves his Bluey and Minion figures. He lines them up neatly, counts them, makes them talk in funny voices while he hums the background music.Cartoons are his thing. He'll watch the same episode over and over till he knows every sound. Sometimes he switches the language - French, Spanish, Japanese - copying every word perfectly. I think he's learning something big, even if none of us understand it yet.At night, Mum still reads to him, even if "bedtime" doesn't really mean much. Her voice is slow, steady. Then come the prayers. Mum starts, Dad joins in, and Sami hums along. Sometimes he repeats the last words, soft but clear, like he's singing them back.On the best nights, after all the stories and songs, his body finally slows down. His hums fade. Mum smooths his hair and whispers, "Goodnight, my boy." Her eyes stay on him a second longer before she switches off the lamp. We never know how long the quiet will last.And when he finally sleeps, the whole house softens. His toys stay in perfect rows. His book's half-finished. The air still holds a bit of his hum. Sometimes I just peek in before bed, quiet as I can. His face looks peaceful, like he's dreaming in numbers - the same ones that guide him through his days. And I think, as I pull the door almost shut, that even if the world never understands Sami's rhythm, we do.
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The Night of Numbers
By Nusaybah P.
