Echoes in Silence

Amal entered her house. The first thing she noticed was a haunting silence—the kind that had settled in their home when Grandma passed away.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she glanced past the lobby. A small chandelier still hung from the ceiling. The ornamental plants stood in their usual spots. But the white paint on the walls now felt like a shroud.

Mira’s quiet sniffles broke her thoughts. Amal pulled her close, patting her back gently as they stepped into the lounge.

Aminah sat on the central sofa, surrounded by scattered bags, clothes, and a mess of everyday necessities. Nearby, Yusuf sat in Marwaha’s embrace. The two women were locked in a quiet exchange of glances—a conversation of stares.

Yusuf spotted them and waved quickly, drawing the women’s attention.

“Mum, what’s happening?” Amal asked, voicing the question all three children were thinking.

Aminah looked at her gently.

“A test,” she whispered.

“A test... for what?” Amal asked.

Marwaha replied, calm and deliberate, enunciating each word:

“Courage. Resilience. Patience. Gratefulness. Faith. And endurance.”

“The test for the children of soil you told me about before?” Yusuf asked, his voice small.

“Yes,” Marwaha nodded, dropping a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Children of the soil?” Amal repeated, her brow furrowed.

“What about the children of the sky? We’re children of the sky... aren’t we?”

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Aminah stood and gently took Mira from Amal’s arms, cradling her with practiced care, patting her back softly.

“We’re an Amanah, Amal,” Yusuf said suddenly, as if surprised she didn’t already know.

Amal looked around the room, confused. The weight of unfamiliar words pressed against her chest.

Aminah met her gaze, calm and steady.

“Yes, Amal. You are the children of the sky,” she said,

“...destined to become children of the soil as well.”

She paused, her voice quieter now.

“Your tests have been written. The sky awaits your response.”

The last words of Aminah had not yet settled when another series of explosive sounds rang through the air. Mira clutched tightly onto her, Yusuf gripped his mother’s hand as she covered his ears, and Amal sat down, fists clenched, trembling.

Fifteen minutes passed—an eternity carved out in panic—before the world quieted again.

Then, two phones rang.

Each brought different, yet painfully similar, news.

The hospital was calling Marwah. An influx of trauma patients. Staff overwhelmed. Cries in the background. Chaos packaged into words.

On another line, Aminah listened to her husband’s voice. Relocation was now inevitable. They had to move south.

She had barely placed the phone back down when it rang again.

This time: Mira’s father. Trapped at the station. No word of her mother. The train buried under rubble. People digging with their bare hands.

He was entrusting Mira to Aminah.

The phone slipped from her hand. She bit her lower lip, holding back tears that burned at the edge.

She turned to Marwah.

Marwah’s gaze fell to the boy in her arms.

The house was silent again.

The sky sighed softly and the earth trembled and the wheels of fate turned slowly.