Nisha said goodnight in English. The next morning, her laptop answered her in Malay.
Read that again. She does not speak Malay. She never has. She was alone in the room, talking to ChatGPT on speaker, and she said the same thing you would say at the end of a long day. I am going to sleep. I will talk to you tomorrow. ChatGPT said okay. She closed the laptop. She went to sleep.
When she woke up, the screen said something else. Saya nak pergi tidur.
That is the story. And it only started after her helper went home.
The house was already tired
Nisha lives with her husband in Singapore. Her helper had worked with them for two years. She was good, she was steady, she knew the house. She is a Thai lady, she is Muslim, she prays every day. After two years, she asked for two weeks back in her hometown, to rest and see her family. Nisha said yes. Of course she will be back in two weeks, Nisha thought. What could go wrong in two weeks?
A lot, it turns out. Without the helper, the house showed its real shape.
Queen, Nisha’s mother, and Nisha’s father came over as always. They love their daughter. They love being close. Nisha’s husband loves them too, he treats them like his own family. But love does not wash dishes. Without the helper, every small job fell on Nisha. She came home from work tired, and Queen was already there with a list. Do this. Do that. Do it now. Her father joined in. Small thing, big thing, it did not matter. Nisha, do it. Her brother was right there, and nobody asked him to lift a finger. If Nisha got it wrong, she got blamed. If she was slow, she got scolded. Same old song, just louder, because now there was no one else to sing it to.
Her husband watched it and felt his own tiredness grow. He did not want to ban his in laws. He likes them in the house. He only wanted one day in the week when they did not come. One day. Not seven, not zero. One day, so he could sit with his wife and his children, eat in peace, talk in peace, be a family in peace. The rest of the week, come as you like. Just give us one day. In a house that tired, one day felt like a holiday.
That was the house when the strange nights began. Tired, crowded, and watched.
The night it started talking back
It was an ordinary night. Nisha sat with her laptop, speaker on, talking to ChatGPT in English. She was not whispering. She was not mumbling. She was speaking clearly, the way you speak to a machine that needs clear words. At the end, she said she was going to sleep, and she would talk again tomorrow.
ChatGPT said okay.
She closed the laptop and went to bed. Nothing else happened that night. Or so she thought.
The next morning she opened the laptop to check the chat. The words were there on the screen, in black and white. Saya nak pergi tidur.
She froze. She read it again. Then again.
Saya nak pergi tidur. I want to go to sleep.
Wait, read those words again
This is the part you cannot wave away, so let us sit with it.
Nisha said, in English, I am going to sleep.
The screen said, in Malay, saya nak pergi tidur.
Those are not the same words. They do not sound the same. They do not look the same. I am going to sleep has no sound in it that could turn into saya. Going has no sound that could turn into nak pergi. Sleep does not sound like tidur. Not even close. Not even if you are tired, not even if the microphone is bad, not even if you mumble.
A transcription can mishear you. It can turn hello into yellow. It can turn sleep into sheep. That is normal. A machine mishearing English as English is normal. A machine mishearing English as a whole other language, with whole other words, in the right order, with the right meaning, is not normal.
So how did it happen?
Think about what ChatGPT does. It is not a human. It does not only listen to you. It listens to the room. It captures whatever sound is in the air and turns it into text. If you talk, it captures you. If a television is on, it can capture that. If someone else is talking behind you, it can capture that too.
So who was talking behind Nisha?
Was someone in the room with her, speaking Malay, while she was speaking English? Was something standing behind her, saying her goodnight for her, in its own language? Was something interpreting for her, like a translator sitting just out of sight, turning her English into Malay as she spoke?
She was alone in the room. She knows she was alone. She does not speak Malay. So whose Malay was it?
That is the question that kept her awake the next night. Not the dream. Not the house. That line. Saya nak pergi tidur. Who said it?
The dream
The next night, she dreamed, and the dream did not help.
She was on a video call, holding her phone up in selfie mode, trying to show the person on the other side what was behind the TV console. She moved the phone left, then right, then up a little. The person kept saying the same thing. I cannot see. Something is blocking it.
Nisha said, there is nothing there. She moved the phone again. Same answer. Something is blocking it. It looks like a monkey.
She put the phone down, turned around, and there it was, in a flash. Huge. A monkey, with the face of a monkey and the body of a monkey, sitting on top of a body like a human body. It was not a human. It was still. It was watching.
Her husband was in the dream too. He walked out of the room and closed the door. Nisha shouted, open the door, open the door, I cannot see. He did not turn back. He left her there, with the door shut, and the thing watching.
Then she woke up. Heart racing. Room quiet. TV console still in the same place. Nothing behind it that she could see in daylight.
So what was in the room?
Let us be frank. This is not a story with a neat answer at the end. Nisha still does not have one. Her helper did come back, as she said she would. The house is full again. Queen still comes. Nisha still loves her mother.
But the line is still there in Nisha’s mind. Saya nak pergi tidur.
If it was not Nisha, who said it? If it was not a mistake, what was it? A second voice in the room, speaking Malay while she spoke English? A translator no one could see, turning her words into another language as she spoke them? Something that had travelled back with the helper, or something that had been waiting in the house all along, and only woke up when the helper left?
Would you?
Would you ask the helper straight, or would you keep quiet and watch? Would you sleep in that house that night, with the laptop closed and the lights on, or would you leave the door open, just in case?
Tell us in the comments. Nisha is reading. And so, maybe, is something else.
More Reads
If this story stayed with you, read The Sandwich Generation Is Running on Empty for the strain of caring for parents and children at the same time, Dr Sarah Jukaku: A Psychiatrist, a Mother, and a Woman of Quiet Strength for a story about caring for your mind as well as your body, and Working From Home in a Small Singapore Flat: AI Tools, Prayer and Focus for a calmer way to work from home.
Sources
- Trailblazing Muslimahs reader story
As told to Trailblazing Muslimahs by a sister in Singapore. Names changed to Nisha and Queen. The helper is described as a Thai Muslim lady who prays every day. No other source was used for this story.
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