Silence Before the Absence

Chapter One: Silence Before the Absence

The sun was leaving the village like a heavy-footed guest, leaving behind a sky embroidered with threads of orange and purple. In the small village of "Zaytoun" (Olive), where houses were made of mud and dreams, and the dust of the roads carried the scent of wild thyme, Safaa lifted her dress, slightly stained with market dust.

She tightened her grip on the cloth bag she carried, which held a handful of green onions, some white cheese she had bought from Aunt Noor, and a small blue silk ribbon embroidered with daisy flowers—the flowers her grandmother loved. A small gift for her grandmother.

Safaa, thirty-three years old, walked with steady yet measured steps. Her pace was calm, but heavy with unspoken questions, along the gravel path leading to their home on the edge of the village. A small house of limestone, surrounded by a eucalyptus fence, with an inner courtyard from which hung dried pepper clusters and mint branches.

"Today was long, but good," she whispered to herself with a faint smile, remembering the laughter of children pushing and shoving at Uncle Abu Zahir's shop.

She lived with her grandmother, Yaqoot, since the mysterious disappearance of her parents seven years ago. Her grandmother was not just an old woman weaving wool; she was the keeper of secrets, the guardian of tales, and Safaa's first and only teacher. Safaa loved her beyond measure—she considered her a second mother, her only friend, and her true mentor.

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She reached the wooden gate. She opened it quietly, and the first breeze of the fragrant "Night Musk" plant greeted her face. The creak of the door was louder than usual, and the strangeness of an unfamiliar silence immediately caught her attention.

The front wing of the house was empty. There was no sound of watering the plants that her grandmother always tended to at this hour. No scent of anise and chamomile wafting from the kitchen. No soft humming of her grandmother reciting evening prayers. No clamor of chickens in the backyard.

"Grandmother?" she called out in a faint voice.

No answer.

Safaa entered the kitchen. She found the copper tea kettle sitting on the old wooden table, alongside small ceramic teacups adorned with blue patterns. Beside them was a plate of half-eaten dried figs, as if her grandmother had left it abruptly. On the nearby wooden stool, a woolen towel lay fallen on the floor—she was surprised, for her grandmother was never careless.

"She must be in the backyard," Safaa tried to reassure herself.

But even the garden was eerily quiet. The watering cans were overturned. Some mint leaves were scattered as if someone had rushed away in a hurry. Safaa looked toward the old well—no one was there. Then at the stone bench under the walnut tree—empty.

Her heart raced.

She hurried to open her grandmother's room. Nothing. The bed was neatly made. The window was wide open. On the small table beside the bed, there was an old oil lamp that had been extinguished minutes earlier, and her grandmother's silver ring resting on the lamp, glistening under the last rays of the sun.

Safaa's hair stood on end.

Her grandmother never took off this ring. Ever. It was an ancient ring shaped like a daisy flower. Her grandmother had told her it was a gift from her grandfather fifty years ago, and that it kept him alive in her heart. She only removed it when she performed ablution, but she never left it far from her.

So why was it here? As if waiting?

Safaa sat on the small wooden chair and began to examine the room carefully. She noticed that some plants on her grandmother's windowsill were still moist, as if they had been watered recently. She caught a familiar scent—but one that rarely stood alone. Usually, it blended with the fragrance of mint and the filyo plant. But today, its scent was dominant, overpowering: the scent of basil. This fragrant herb, known for repelling insects. Yes, it was basil.

She opened a small window that her grandmother usually didn't allow her to open. The wind blew gently, carrying the distant sounds of the city, but it wasn't enough to explain what Safaa was feeling: something unusual had happened here, and whoever came before her had left no trace.

She began to remember her grandmother's words:

"Don't look for answers in words. Observe what is left for you. Nature never lies—but it never explains itself either."

Safaa approached the fragrant basil plant slowly, the scent growing stronger. She noticed a small glass capsule buried in the soil of the pot. Her hand reached for it slowly, trembling, and she opened it. Safaa's eyes widened, her face frozen in shock.

She clutched the ring in her trembling hand and rushed toward the laboratory. Her heart pounded like drums of war. Something she hadn't expected had begun. But little did she know that her departure from this house in search of her grandmother would not be easy at all…

The paper Safaa had opened contained a dried leaf of the neem plant. She understood her grandmother's message immediately. She realized that the first thread of this myst

ery began in the laboratory.

End of Chapter One