Chapter Five: The Ghost in the Silence
236 Words
It began with a knock.
One soft, slow knock on the door of the old mosque.
The imam, alone in the dim candlelight, looked up.
But no one was there.
Then, a whisper.
“She didn’t lie…”
It came from the wind,
Or the floor,
Or perhaps… from inside.
That week, children stopped playing near the olive tree.
They said they heard crying at dusk.
Not screams… but soft weeping, like a song without hope.
Old women began to light candles at her grave.
Not because they believed in ghosts,
But because guilt now wore their faces.
Even the men—those who once spat her name with poison—
They looked over their shoulders in prayer,
As if afraid she might be standing there,
Eyes wide, not angry… just asking:
Why didn’t you defend me?
And her father?
He stopped sleeping.
He wandered the village like a shadow in human skin.
He stopped shaving.
Stopped speaking.
He wrote her name on every wall in their home.
Sometimes he screamed it into the night,
As if hoping God would send her back—
Even for one second.
Even just to say, “I forgive you.”
But forgiveness never came.
Because some words,
When not spoken in time,
Rot in the mouth forever.
And the village, once proud and loud,
Became a quiet place.
As if silence was the only thing left…
That didn’t lie.
- Writer
