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Young Malaysian Author Aiyssia Debuts with The Song We Left Unfinished
Teks | Larissa Lumandan
Photo | Aiyssia
For Aiyssia, music was never just sound. It was identity, memory, and the quiet language through which the characters in her novel learned to exist in the world. So, when she decided to write a story about a young woman who loses her hearing, she was not merely exploring disability or tragedy—she was asking a more unsettling question—what happens when the thing that once defined you disappears without warning?
This question lies at the heart of The Song We Left Unfinished, Aiyssia’s debut novella, written when she was just 18. Also known as Batrissyia Nur Iman, the author follows the story of Alayna, a musician whose life is abruptly altered by an accident that leaves her unable to hear, forcing her to confront not only her fractured relationship with music, but also with love, friendship, and her own sense of self.
“I kept thinking about how fragile the things we love really are,” Aiyssia told POPClub in an exclusive interview. “Music, for Alayna, isn’t a hobby. It’s how she understands herself and the world. So, I wanted to sit with the fear of waking up one day and realising something that once felt natural was suddenly gone.”
That fear, she explained, extends far beyond music. For many people, a band, a singer, or even a single song becomes a lifeline—something that carries them through moments they never expected to survive. Losing it can feel like losing a part of one’s body, or worse, a part of one’s soul.
Aiyssia draws parallels to creatives and athletes whose identities are built around physical ability: a writer who loses the use of a hand, a cameraman who loses his sight, an athlete forced into early retirement by injury. “These losses don’t just take something away. They force people to become someone else,” she said.
The inspiration
The idea was partly inspired by an unlikely source: a manhwa called School Bus Graveyard. In it, a character who once loved singing loses his voice after trauma and begins to despise the sound that remains. “I loved that idea,” Aiyssia said. “So I reshaped it, softened it, and made it fit my story.”
Music also played a subtle role in her writing process. The 20-year-old author did not work from curated playlists, but certain songs lingered. Arctic Monkeys’ 505 helped her maintain rhythm during performance scenes. An unnamed instrumental piece she once heard during a campus event also stayed with her as an emotional reference. “It felt perfect,” she said, “because I could never find it again.”
That sense of something meaningful slipping just out of reach mirrors one of the book’s central metaphors—unfinished songs. In the novel, they represent dreams interrupted, words left unsaid, and relationships paused not by lack of love, but by circumstance.
A story that lives in the details
At the novel’s emotional centre is Alayna’s complicated relationship with Zayn, shaped by shared history, regret, and the emotional fallout of the accident that separates them. Aiyssia resisted grand confessions or dramatic reconciliation scenes. Instead, she focused on what she calls “the small failures” — pauses, unfinished conversations, and the ache of wanting to reach someone without knowing how.
“Real tension lives in small gestures,” she said. “Not in big speeches.”
The novel’s ensemble cast, including bandmates Yaffa and Ariqin, also reflects Aiyssia’s fascination with group dynamics. Each character responds differently to the same chaos: silence, anger, denial, stubborn loyalty. Their chemistry emerges from contrast rather than harmony, bound together by music even when words fail.
A first book and a lifetime of lessons
Though The Song We Left Unfinished is her first published book, Aiyssia has been writing for most of her life. She began at 12, posting stories on Wattpad in Malay and eventually completing three works. English, however, was unfamiliar territory.
“This is my first English book,” she said. “It felt terrifying.”
She wrote the novella largely for fun, without pressure, over three to four months. When a call for submissions by Manes Wordworks, a publisher she admired, appeared, she submitted it almost impulsively. The acceptance email arrived while she was on campus.
“I cried,” she said. “It was the first time I cried from happiness.”
The professional editing process, which she initially feared, turned out to be unexpectedly gentle. “They treated me like family,” she said.
Writing the book also changed her. During a period of creative fear, she worried she had lost the version of herself who once wrote effortlessly. That anxiety found its way into Alayna’s journey. “I was scared my creativity was gone,” she said. “That fear became hers.”
Through writing, Aiyssia learned that growth does not require returning to who you were before. Sometimes it means accepting change without self-punishment.
A soft hope
When asked what she hopes readers will feel after finishing the book, Aiyssia paused. “I don’t want them to feel inspired,” she said finally. “I just want them to feel understood.”
Especially those who have lost something intangible—a dream, a relationship, a future they once imagined. Healing, she believes, does not require closure. Sometimes it only requires permission to carry what is unfinished, and keep going anyway.
“Even if something isn’t resolved,” she said, “it can still be meaningful.”
For a debut written by a teenager navigating two languages, ambition, and fear, The Song We Left Unfinished does something quietly rare. It refuses spectacle. Instead, it listens—to loss, to uncertainty, and to the soft hope that lingers when the music stops, but the story does not.
The Song We Left Unfinished
UP: RM29.00 (WM)/ RM32.00 (EM)
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