7/9/2026

*continuous silence*

Dear diary,

Silence. One of the most important things in life.My life.

I used to hate it, And i still do sometimes, but now im used to it. It's like my invincible friend, who's always there for me. Its strong hands used to choke me in my childhood when i didn't have the courage to talk back.In tough moments, silence is the only thing i need.

The slight hum of a sound i still haven't identified keeps me entertained and calm. The silence blocks thoughts from entering my mind, and the atmosphere allows me to concentrate.

I'd learned different things just because of it. How to tip-toe up to my parents, How to quietly grab a knife from the kitchen drawer, how to concentrate, how to kill people quietly, how to escape quietly.

I get why people have a love-hate relationship with silence.

When the researcher invited his detective friend to a celebratory banquet, the last thing either of them expected was that the following day would record the most significant theft of their era.

As the detective awoke from his overnight stay, preparing to bid his companion farewell, he was startled by the sorrowful, trembling voice recounting the theft.

“An infinite melting point—that's what distinguishes my new synthetic material,” the researcher declared with a reassuring tone.

Detective: “Do you have any enemies? Or does anyone know of your invention?”

Researcher: “I have no enemy but the devil himself. No one knows of this idea but us.

Everyone was puzzled. Uncharacteristically, the detective dismissed suspicion and ruled out the crime. Meanwhile, the researcher was completely convinced a theft had occurred—and a dark doubt even made him suspect the detective himself.

But what removes all suspicion from the detective is the fact that detectives have no need for revolutionary materials... or do they?

A relaxed chuckle escaped the detective’s lips before he remarked:

“Then you must have lost it... or misplaced it.”

Researcher (firmly): “Never! Impossible! I only purchased the lab yesterday!”

Detective (sarcastically): “Even if you lived here for an age, you wouldn’t be able to distinguish the hallway from the ceiling.” (Pointing at some nearby cabinets.) “Check those cabinets. I hope you didn’t mistake them for a garbage bin. Then again, even if you did, I’m sure you inspected them thoroughly!"

The researcher was taken aback—part confusion, part disbelief at the sarcasm. Before he could articulate his stammering protest, the detective added:

“If you know that only you and I are aware of your invention, and you're clearly excluding yourself... why do you accuse me so easily?”

A surge of conflicting emotions swelled in the researcher—rage, humiliation, then a wave of remorseful pity like that of a man realizing his injustice. Without protest, he replied:

“Forgive me, Duraid. You're the last person I'd point a finger at. But mathematics allows no room for hopeful assumptions. The probability leaves no escape for either of us.”

Detective (puzzled): “Probability... has fled from us both. But where has it gone?”

As the detective posed his question, a revelation began to form in his mind. The door opened, and the Butler, responsible for the lab's affairs, entered the scene.

The Butler: “A good day to you.”

Both Friends: “And to you.”

Detective: “We had completely forgotten about you, Lamy.”

Lamy: “In which equation did you forget me?”

Detective (taking out his notepad): “The equation of theft.”

Lamy (startled): “Theft?!”

Detective (nodding): “A material with a boiling point...”

Researcher (correcting): “Melting point!” (Then realizing correcting him wasn’t wise) “Hold on! Lamy isn’t a thief.”

Detective: “Then who is? The probability of Lamy being the thief is greater than either of us.”

Silence blanketed the room, as if a logic bomb had exploded, silencing all argument.

Detective: “Back to the case. The list of suspects is a one-man circle. So, I ask you, Lamy, to confess."

Before Lamy could respond, the door creaked open again, introducing a second suspect—the cook, arriving in the midst of Lamy's defense and the detective's obstinance.

Cook: “Greetings.”

All (with suspicion): “Welcome.”

Detective: “We had forgotten about you as well.”

Cook: “In what recipe did I escape your thoughts?”

Detective: “The recipe of theft.”

Cook (feigning terror): “Theft?!”

Detective (nodding): “A material with an infinite... what was it? Ah! melting point.”

Cook: “Was the material moldable?”

Researcher (eagerly): “Yes!”

Cook (with sly curiosity): “And could it heat pastries to their absolute limit?”

Researcher (inner monologue): Those are the questions of an expert... Could it be?(outer speech): Not confirmed, but possible.

Cook: “Well then, I have good news. There was no theft—only blame. I used the material to bake these pastries.”

(She exits briefly, then returns pushing a cart with a delicious aroma.)

“Bon appétit!”

Researcher: “How do you combine blame and generosity? But please, Lamia, don’t treat inventions like cooking pots!”

Laughter filled the room...

Five hours after the ‘celebration’, the detective prepared to depart. But the researcher stopped him near the luggage room.

Researcher: “A cheap trick, by the way.”

Detective (packing, dismissively): “You uncovered the truth—even a fool could’ve.”

Researcher: “It’s like I never knew you at all.”

Detective: “Sometimes, meeting a kind stranger for a day is better than knowing a deceiving friend for a decade. But tell me—how did you figure it out?

Researcher: “Figure it out? There was no trail—just a single fine thread. You always decline my invitations, yet after I told you about my invention, you came running like an ostrich!”

Detective: “So, I had a right...”

Researcher (interrupting): “You had no ground to stand on! Your eagerness to accuse anyone, even a humble servant, your fingerprints on the fake material—surely from carrying it to the kitchen...”

The tension climaxed—an exchange of verbal arrows, until the researcher delivered his final blow:

“And when the cook asked if the material was moldable...”

Detective: “But it really is moldable!”

Researcher: “You've condemned yourself, traitor! It is moldable—but only under high pressure no human can generate. There's a massive machine for that near the ‘trash bin.’ But since you made a counterfeit, that explains the flaw!”

Everything turned murky—no one could say where either adversary would go from there. The detective found it a crime to forgive himself, yet guilt’s deep sting held him back from admitting anything.

He remembered the times he falsely pushed the innocent to confess…

Now he was collapsing under the weight of projection.

Researcher (furiously): “You wanted me to think my invention wasn’t stolen so you could escape with it. But no! I saw through the lie—and I want justice, even if I’m no detective or judge!”

Detective (defeated): “I needed it...”

Researcher: “And I need to see you punished.”

From an analysis to a brawl, the case spiraled:

Detective (resisting): “I flipped the table before you even thought to flip it!”

(He tackled the researcher and pinned him to the ground.)

“I saw that flicker of doubt in your eyes. While you were munching on pastries, we held a secret meeting you didn’t even notice and that meeting sealed your disgrace!”

He clapped—and moments later, the cook entered with a wicked smile, handing him a glowing silver ingot. The sight of it drained all color from the researcher’s face as he collapsed, unconscious.

Detective (quietly to the cook): “Make sure the door locks automatically, but doesn’t shut to kill. This friend of mine doesn’t deserve such torment... What a farce! And all of it… just because the military pays top dollar for lethal tech.”

(He exits.)

عذرا عن اي اخطاء

𝐸𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 ^_^

•

•

•

I don't want much..... All I wanted was a moment when I wouldn't tremble with loneliness.

•

•

•

تحت انوار السماء و الشوارع

وسط برد الجو و دفء الاوشحة

يسير ابطالنا بهدوء كسكون الليل

الصمت المريح لغتهما اغلب الاحيان

و بعد مدة ليست بطويلة بدأت الانوار تزداد و اصوات الناس تعلو تدل على اقترابهم من وسط المدينة التي تجملت  بالانوار و الزينة بشكل آسر

ومع تقدمهم يزداد الازدحام و عدد المارة و ذلك ما سبب القلق و عدم الراحة لإيلين

لاحظ ارثر ذلك فقربها إليه أكثر و قال  بابتسامته المطمئنة "اذا بما نبدأ هممم؟ تسوق سريع ام شراء بعض الهدايا؟ " لترد  ايلين "لابأس معي افعل ما يحلو لك" ابتسم بهدوء و جرها معه لمحل صغير

اهلا بكم  في متجرنا المتواضع_

رحبت بهم العاملة بابتسامة لطيفة ليبادلها التحية ويبدآ بالتجول

كان المحل يحوي على هدايا صغيرة و اكسسوارات لطيفة و أشياء جميلة من دمى و هدايا تناسب الأجواء

اشترى ارثر البعض من اجل معارفه بينما ايلين كانت تناظر المعروض أمامها تارة و الطفل الكبير الذي يتنقل هنا و هناك تارة آخرى إلى أن جذبها ندائه لها لتستجيب ترى ما يريده

"انظري لاغطية الهواتف هذه اليست جميلة " أشار لاغطية هواتف تبدو للازواج و الاصدقاء المقربين لونها أشبه بالمجرة المرصعة ببريق كالنجوم أحدها يحتوي على قمر و الآخر  يحوي شمسا

لمعت عيون إيلين بإعجاب واضح

فقد كانتا كشيء يصفهما و علاقتهما بشكل لطيف و عميق في ذات الوقت

آرثر لاحظ هذا و قرر شرائها مباشرة لكن خطر في باله سؤال تردد في طرحه

"لكن إيلين..هل..."

همهمت له  الأخرى تحثه على اكمال سؤاله بعد ان لاحظت تشوشه

"هل تملكين هاتفا؟؟"

رمشت بهدوء عدت مرات و هي تناظر المرتبك أمامها

"اجل بالطبع املك"

وضعت يدها في جيبها و هي تتمتم

"انا لا استعمله كثيرا ...لكني لست ضد التكنلوجيا او من العصر الحجري او شيء من هذا القبيل "

أخرجت هاتفها من جيبها تريه اياه  و كأنها تقول أرأيت انا لست غبية او ما شابه

صحيح أنه ليس بالطراز الحديث او من أحدث إصدارات الأجهزة و الهواتف

لكنه يبدو جديدا و نظيفا أكد آرثر ان ذلك يعود لقلة الاستعمال لكنه يبقى جيدا يمتلك أغلب الناس مثله

"اسف لم أرك تستعملينه من قبل ..اذا سأشتريهما ..اعتقد اني  سآخذ خاصة الشمس ما رأيك؟"

همهمت ايلين قبل أن تقول بتمتمة ظنت ان آرثر لن يسمعها

'اعتقد انه يناسبك فتى الشمس'

حل هدوء صغير جعلها تدرك انه سمعها

فنظرت إليه فوجدته ينظر إليها بدوره بملامح متعجبة فارتبكت

"اا-انا ..انا لم اقصد ..اعنيـ

قاطع كلماتها المبعثر ضحك ارثر و قوله

ــ لا بأس ايلين... لا عليك  احببت اللقب و يبدو انني لست الوحيد من يطلق الالقاب

صمت قليلا قبل ان يتابع

الغلاف الآخر سيكون لك ...يناسبك ...يا ابنة القمر

همهمت ايلين و استدارت تحاول إخفاء حرجها

لكن احمرار اذنيها الشديد كان واضحا لآرثر الذي حاول تم ضحكه كي لا يحرجها اكثر

رغم انه وجد  ملامحها المحرجة و الخجولة لطيفة جدا و مميزة

تقدم هو ليدفع ثمن ما اشتراه بينما ايلين كانت تنتظره بينما تغير اغطية هواتفهما بالجديدة

حال خروجهما لفح وجهيهما الهواء البارد  لكنهما ابتسما و هما يحدقان بهواتفهما

«مهلا ايلين..هل بمكنك اعطائي حساباتك في مواقع التواصل...كما تعلمين لنستطيع التراسل؟»

رمشت ايلين عدت مرات واعادت ببصرها للهاتفها

«يمكنك اخذ رقمي...لكن لا امتلك اي حسابات في اي من تلك المواقع »

دقيقة صمت حلت عليهما حاول فيها ان يستوعب ما قالته للتو

حقا؟  هل هناك من لا يستعملها؟

قاطعت افكاره ايلين و هي تمد لارثر هاتفها وهو اخذه ليتحقق

لم تكن مزحة هي حقا لا تملك اي منها

وفي لحظة لمعت عيون ارثر كمن اتته فكرة عظيمة

"دعيني اهتم بهاتفك  استطيع تعليمك استخدامها و افتح حسابات لك ما رأيك همم؟ "

حدقت ايلين به و بالهاتف في يده ثم اشاحت بوجهها كالعادة و هي تتمتم ب شيء كـ'افعل ما يحلو لك' لايهم

وهكذا بقي ارثر يشرح ويثرثر لايلين عن كل صغيرة و كبيرة عن هاتفها اثناء تجولهم في الشوارع-متشابكي الايدي كالعادة-ويجربان الطعام من المحلات الصغيرة المنتشرة في كل مكان  هنا و هناك ويلتقطان بعض الصور للذكرى

•

•

•

مر الوقت بسرعة و هاهي السنة على وشك الانتهاء بعد دقائق

و قد وجدا مكان جيد لمراقبة الالعاب النارية التي ستزين السماء بعد قليل

ـ البرد شديد هل اعطيكِ قفازي؟  سأل ارثر

ـ لا باس معتادة على البرد

ــ لا بامكانك اخذه انظري انت تتجمدين

بهدوء امسك آرثر يد ايلين برقة يلبسها القفاز

اما هي فكانت تحدق في ملامه القريبة... هادئة  قلقة حنونة... نظراته دافئة كمن ينظر الى اثمن ما لديه

ما يدفعها للتساؤل

لما قد ينظر الي بهذه النظرة؟

ما الذي يدور في ذهنه؟ ولماذا يعاملها كانها جوهرة يخشى عليها ان تخدش؟

ماذا اكون بالنسبة لك آرثر؟

الاف الاسئلة التي كالعادة تؤثر الاحتفاظ بها لنفسها

لماذا؟

لعلها تخشى تغير كل شيء اذا سألت؟

لماذا تخشى ذلك؟

لا احد يعلم

حتى ايلين

لاتزال في دوامة

عالقة بين ما يحدث و الاوهام التي تنسجها مخاوفها

فماعادت قادرة على معرفة الحقيقة من الاكاذيب

ـ ايلين.. اين ذهب تفكيرك

جفلت تنظر اليه كمن استيقظ من حلم قصير

ـ هيا سيبدأ العد التنازلي   قال بابتسامة مرحة

خمسة

اربعة

ثلاثة

اثنان

واحد

راقبت  ارتفاع  الالعاب و انفجارها  باشكال جميلة

عيونها تراقب الانوار المتوهجة في السماء

وارثر يراقب السماء و انوارها في عيون سوداء  جميلة تبدو كالمجرة بسبب انعكاس بريق الالعاب النارية عليها

التفتت اليه و التقت عيونهما لتتحدث عوضا عنهما مع الاضواء البراقة المسلطة عليهما ابتسم ارثر بدفء قبل ان يقول

تمني امنية ايلين.. لربما تتحقق الاماني في مثل هذه اللحظات الدافئة

ورفع بصره للاعلى ثم اغلق عينيه

يتمنى امنية ما

في اللحظة التي ابتسم فيها ارثر لها

شعرت بأن قلبها يرتجف لكن ليس بسبب الوحدة هذه المرة بل بشعور اعمق.. مختلف.. ادفء؟

هي لا تصدق ان الاماني قد تحقق باطفاء الشموع او عند سقوط الشهب او اطلاق العاب نارية في السماء

لكنها و لسبب ما هذه المرة

تمنت ان يدوم هذا الشعور و ان يستمر في التوغل و احاطت روحها  لتشعر و لو بالقليل من الدفء وسط الصقيع

صقيع الشتاء

صقيع الحياة

و صقيع روحها

لكن الان هي فقط ستكون صبورة تنتظر ما يخبأه القدر لها في المستقبل

على امل ان يكون شخص ما  اشقر يحب الظهور فجاة و توزيع الابتسامات و الكلمات الطيفة.. جزء من هذا المستقبل

تأخر الوقت بالفعل و هاهي يد ايلين الدافئة  بفضل القفاز اصبحت اكثر دفء بسبب يد ارثر التي تمسكها باحكام في جيبه بلطف

يسيران بصمت و هدوء معتاد بينهما

في اغلب اللحظات الثمينة الهادئة الخالية من الكلمات حيث الصمت و عيونهم تفهم كل شيء.

لا حاجة للكلمات بين همسات القلوب

وهنا بين رياح باردة و معاطف دافئة

تحت سماء مظلمة و بين طيات الشتاء

قلبان متشابهان كلاهما ذاق الالم و مرارة الجراح

فهل سيكونان العلاج لبعضهما البعض

لا نعلم بعد

قد نعلم قريبا... وربما لا

لانعلم ذلك كذلك

كل ما نعلمه ان ما بينهما لم يعد مجرد تحت ما يسمى غرباء.. بل صار اعمق حتى من احباء

سنكتشفه لاحقا.. اما الان فهاهما قد وصلا الى بيتيهما

تبادلا النظرات و الابتسامات قبل ان يودعها بصمت غافلين عن ان كلاهما يحملان نفس المشاعر المثقلة لكن الدافئة في صدريهما

•

•

•

نهاية البارت

~~~~~•~~~~~

احس البارت دافئ و لطيف و حاولت ان يكون اطول قدر الامكان

ععلى كل حال

رايكم

اسئلة

توقعات

الى اللقاء شكرا لوصولكم الى هنا

♡مع حبي ♡

Scene One: Year 1955

(A room bustling with laboratory equipment and diagrams of strange structures. In the center, a sorrowful inventor buries his face in his hands.)

(The assistant enters without knocking. The inventor shows no reaction.)

Assistant: Why do I see your tears so stubborn?

Inventor: I don't understand.

Assistant: Understand what?

Inventor: Do you remember that brilliant idea I told you about before?

Assistant: The Transitional Hydrogen Model? It was a truly remarkable idea! Pity it never succeeded.

Inventor: (with regret) On the contrary—it did succeed. Unfortunately, it already existed... sixty years ago.

Assistant: That’s truly odd. Anyway, I came to say hello and let you know there’s nothing new.

Inventor: (gazes downward silently)

Assistant: (begins to leave but turns back) Maybe someone used a time machine in the past to steal an idea from the future. Your invention may have fallen victim to the web of intellectual theft my friend Luay’s investigation office is swamped with.

Inventor: (suddenly intrigued) That’s possible. Let’s go to the investigation office and uncover the thief’s identity!

Assistant: Understood.

(They leave for the investigation office.)

---

Scene Two: The Investigation Office

(A well-organized space, like a beehive: coordinated desks, synchronized file exchanges, and neatly aligned computers. The two companions sit across from Luay, the director.)

Luay: Intellectual property is like any other tangible property—this is a clear principle. But in your case, it evolved from an imaginary idea into a tangible machine, and there lies the issue. Are you certain that the machine built sixty years ago matches your current design in detail?

Inventor: Honestly, I can’t be sure. But yesterday morning, I read that the Transitional Hydrogen Model does exist, with evidence!

Luay: Precisely—that’s the point. Does the physical evidence exactly match your machine?

Inventor: It resembles it. Regardless, hydrogen can only be converted into a pure fuel suitable for electric vehicles through one equation—and it’s mine!

Luay: It’s possible there’s another equation.

Inventor: Perhaps.

(The assistant intervenes, noticing neither man has a definitive argument.)

Assistant: Then let’s use the time machine and return to the past. We’ll investigate the rise of hydrogen technology there—clearly neither of you has a conclusive case. (pauses to think) A time machine is a burden upon the delicate fabric of what two eras are meant to be. So it may be best if we destroy it too!

Inventor & Luay (in unison): An excellent idea.

Assistant: I dislike the word “excellent.” It’s too neutral—even bad things can be “excellent.”

Anyway, let’s go!

---

Scene Three: Year 1895

(A candlelit room. A young man hunches over papers, sketching and writing phrases above each drawing—phrases that seem like madness. As the three intruders enter, the young man jumps in fright and drops his pen.)

Luay: We’d like to question you. (flashes a badge—or more accurately, a sleek official license)

Young Man: (calming down) About what?

Inventor: The time machine has spread like automobiles. Each generation now has its own traveler to the New World—or returnee from a bygone decade. I believe you know what I mean.

Young Man: No, please clarify.

Luay: My client accuses you of stealing his future idea—by traveling more than sixty years forward.

Young Man: (laughing) And you used a time machine to come back and arrest the man you think used it for future theft! What a paradoxical device!

All Three: (together) We agree.

Inventor: But you still haven’t answered—what about the Transitional Hydrogen?

Young Man: (firmly) That’s my original idea.

Inventor: But it matches my design exactly!

Young Man: Search the table all you want. If betting weren’t banned, I’d wager you won’t find an exact match in my notes. I haven’t finished the project yet, but the current draft will prove that similar ideas can exist—unlike identical ones.

(The inventor steps toward the table while the young man continues his defense.)

Young Man: I’ll add this in my defense—current time machines can only go back twenty years. Except for one, which was modified by a skilled mechanic. But even he dared not proceed further after discovering the machine couldn't prevent aging during time travel.

Inventor: (searches the papers, gradually blushing as he realizes the young man’s equation is entirely different—and, in fact, reveals his own equation to be flawed. He steps back in sincere apology.)

I'm sorry. You’re right. We’ll return to our time now—and this time, with an idea I’ve drawn from you, young genius!

Young Man: How strange! Aren’t our thoughts... siblings?

(The candlelight mingles with the laughter of all four.)

Jake – White man, 29, an ex–dog walker with too much gel in his hair and not enough experience. Nervous. Just trying to do his job.

Bangwa Queen – Sacred. Watchful. Royal statue spirit from Cameroon.

Amanirenas – Kandake of Kush. Unbowed. Regal fury.

Tabot – A sacred relic from Ethiopia. Glows faintly. Voice of divinity.

Pokomo Drum – Rhythmic, echoing voice. Once ceremonial. Now forgotten.

Child Spirit – Gentle voice of future generations.

Statue – Deep voice. Represents the forgotten makers.

Imhotep – Spirit of ancient knowledge. Stern, poetic.

Nyasha – A weaver spirit, bearer of memory and folklore. (A public address announcement echoes through the gallery. Dim lighting. Security doors click shut in the distance. Enter JAKE, holding an energy drink, checking his phone. He walks slowly, reading the plaques on display.)

PA SYSTEM (O.S.)Ladies and gentlemen, the Museum will be closing in 30 minutes. Please begin to make your way to the nearest exit. We hope you have enjoyed your visit today at the British Museum.

JAKE Alright, first night. Don’t touch anything. Don’t break anything. Easy enough.(He reads plaques out loud as he walks.)

JAKE (cont’d)“Sainsbury African Galleries”… dope… “Sacred Tabot of Axum”—sounds intense… “Pokomo drum, origin unknown”… “Royal crown, possibly decorative”… ohhh—Sculpture of—

(The lights flicker. A faint tremble in the floor.)

BANGWA QUEEN (O.S.)Didn’t your mother teach you not to touch the sacred?

JAKE (stumbling back) Okay! Okayyyyy I didn’t realize it was interactive!

STATUE (O.S.) I did not agree to be encased in dust and glass for two hundred years.

JAKE Nope. Nope. What in Margaret Thatcher’s ghost is going on—

STATUE Your ancestors plundered kingdoms. And you fear statues?

(A figure begins to take form—AMANIRENAS, regal and silent, emerges from shadow.)

AMANIRENAS They called me Kandake.

JAKE (backing up)Listen, Your Majesty or—I’m just here to—

AMANIRENAS They called me Kandake. I buried kings. I defied Rome. And now I gather dust beside my children’s stolen bones.

JAKE (reading label nervously)Well… technically it says “acquired” on your label.

AMANIRENAS (stepping closer)I was acquired by…gunpowder and gospel. By treaties signed in blood. I was taken in 1736 — hacked from my resting place while my people fled flame.

(A soft rhythm begins to build.)

POKOMO DRUM (O.S.)I sang weddings into being. I summoned rain. Now I sit behind glass while my land forgets my voice.

JAKEOkay, that’s a drum. That is a talking drum.

TABOT (O.S.)No eyes but the priest’s should behold me. And yet here I am. Spectacle. Souvenir.

STATUEEvery label reads “origin unknown.” But we remember.

AMANIRENASWe remember.

BANGWA QUEENWe remember the flames. The chains. The quiet prayers under stolen stars.

CHILD SPIRIT (O.S.)They took my mother’s beads. Now children search for themselves in foreign tongues.

JAKE (gripping walkie-talkie)Central, uh, we got a… we got a spiritual breach in the African Galleries—

STATUE You wear the keycard. You hold the codes. But you don’t hold the story.

POKOMO DRUM We have waited in silence. But silence is not our name.

TABOT Return is not a favor. It is justice.

AMANIRENAS And if the living do not return us, the dead will.

(The room begins to shift. The glass displays fade. Warm light spills in. Trees. Drums. Laughter.)

BANGWA QUEEN You think us relics. But we are prophecy. The earth still sings us. The sky still waits.

JAKE (softly)What do you want from me?

CHILD SPIRIT To listen.

STATUE To remember. To return what was never yours.

AMANIRENAS  I would like a refund.

(Enter IMHOTEP, ancient and slow.)

IMHOTEP We built pyramids not just from stone, but from memory. And you built walls to forget. You say 'civilization' like we were not the blueprint.

NYASHA (O.S.)I was a weaver. My fingers spun stories into cloth. Where is that cloth now? Framed behind glass. Labeled anonymous.

JAKE (to himself) This isn't happening…

IMHOTEP It is always happening. You just stopped noticing. You stopped listening.

NYASHA The loom still turns. The spirits still hum. Even in silence, we create.

TABOT Behold us not as prisoners. We are archives. We are breath.

JAKE Okay… okay. I hear you. What can I do?

BANGWA QUEEN Do not write us off in plaques. Write us back into your memory.

CHILD SPIRIT Tell our stories to your children. Let them learn the truth not from exhibits, but from ancestors.

JAKE (steps toward Tabot)What happens if I… release you?

TABOT (glowing faintly)Then the covenant is restored. Not with kings, but with the people.

AMANIRENAS Return begins with a single step.

JAKE But I’m just a night guard.

STATUE You are a door. Be a door that opens.

(The gallery walls shimmer again. The relics seem to breathe.)

NYASHA The looms spin again. The songs rise.

POKOMO DRUM The beat remembers. The beat forgives.

(A long silence. Jake looks around. He kneels.)

JAKE Then I return what I can. Beginning with truth.

(He picks up the plaque: “Unknown Artisan.” He places it on the floor.)

JAKE (reading aloud) Unknown no more. Known. Remembered.

ALL (O.S., in harmony)We remember.

(Lights dim. The gallery stills.)

BLACKOUT.

( Disclaimer - This story is fictional. I'm writing it for entertainment purposes only. if anything hurts you about this story,I apologise, but if you like it,give feedback or rate this story and give me suggestions to help me for my upcoming projects. Thank you )

Hii this is Om here !!

And “ chalo tumhe ek kahani sunata hu "

I am a full time worker at a small grocery Store.I am living in a city which is nearby the place where I work.

After graduating, I tried to find so many jobs with expected salary but I couldn't find any.

Just like so many others, this is normal now.

But finally I got a job in a small grocery Store with the pay of 8,000 per month.

The store is located out of thecity about 6km distance.

But the part that i don't like is, between the city and Store there is a huge forest.

Mr. Sekhar a 32 year old man is the manager of that store.

Mr. Sekhar and I are the only persons who work in that store.

But I am the only one who have to face that scary forest.

The forest looks beautiful like an angel at day but when the night starts, you won't believe that this is the forest that you see in the morning.

I don't want to make scary memories so I finish my duty before the sunset and come home. Mr. Sekhar is like my elder brother so he allows me to leave.

But.....

One day when I was listening to music on headphones, my mother came and said something and left. I just heard that she was going somewhere. "son when you get ready to go for job, lock the door properly and take the keys.I have the duplicate ones."

I just heard this much and said "okay ma".

Then Mr. Sekhar called me.He said he faced a problem, that his gradfather's condition is getting serious so he has to stay in hospital with him.

In the call he said all about his problem but this is not only his problem but also mine.

Because if he doesn't come, I have to stay till 11.00 pm,because there is strict rule of our store that the store must be open until 11.00 pm.

What can I do now ?

Nothing...

I have no other options so I have to stay here for this night.

Okay I can do it.

Time passes and it's 5.30 pm now.

Store is getting crowded now but Dealing with customers is not a big problem for me.

Now it is 7.30 pm people's number is decreasing now.

Finally it is 10 pm now the Store is fully empty.

I am thinking to leave the store now but the rule stops me always.

Then a young lady came to the store. She is looks beautiful but why did she come here at this time,I thought.

That lady said," excuses me,can i call from your phone ? my phone is dead now."

I said "okay no problem" and I gave her my phone.She called someone and said "I am in the forest road come here."

Then that lady returned my phone and said thanks.

I said are you going to that forest road alone at this time? is it okay for you !?

"Don't worry about it. someone is coming" she said.

But why don't you call them here and you can leave with them ? i asked that lady.

They are coming from another road, so it take time. so I will wait for them in the forest road she said.

I said okay then and she started to leave and when I looked at the clock it is 10.45 pm.

I called her as she was just reaching to the door. I said ,"wait,my duty will be over now. Just wait 15 minutes and i will drop you."

She said okay.

As I am preparing to leave I thought that it is better to go with a person as compared to go alone through that scary road.

I close the store and start my bike and we are gone.

She said her name was Sriya.

And we are going on that scary road with some conversations.

It helps to avoid the scariness of that road.

We were talking when suddenly a car came in front of us.

I stopped the bike and so did the car.

4 people came out of that car. They had a metal rod and hockey sticks. They told us to give them our wallet phone etc.

I gave them all but then one of those guys hit my head with his hockey stick and I fell from the bike and got unconscious. But I could hear the sound of a siren.

When I opened my eyes, i saw that I was in a hospital and the doctor advised me to take rest. He said it is all okay, nothing to worry.

I asked him what about sriya ? But doctor said he knew nothing about her. The police admitted you here.

I remember that I heard a siren. Then a police officer came to meet me. I asked the same question to him but his was same response as the doctor.

The police man said "Did you forgot? You called us and told your location and when we reached there,we saw that some guys were attacking you.

So we arrested all of them. we saw no girl there.Even the robbers said this. But they never told about any girl.

The police man also advised me that you have to take rest.

I was thinking about this when my family came to see me.

I told them about sriya and my mom says, may be this is just your imagination.

But how could I still remember her name .

Then my mom said because I told you about sriya. Remember,when you were going for your job, i told you that “ I am going to a funeral of a girl sriya who died yesterday on a road robbery."

Blanket Blasphemy:

The door opened slowly, as if hesitant to reveal what was behind it. And in walked Ms. Dawland, not with her usual clipboard or lesson plans, just a big fluffy duvet wrapped around her like some sort of majestic gown of floral patterns.

It trailed across the immaculate tiles, a train of the flowers. The class went silent, not the normal kind expected from us, but the 'left speechless' type. She didn't blink, just glided to the board and began her lesson on Hamlet.​​​​​​​As if this was ordinary.

I glanced around the room, waiting for someone to tell me that this was some sort of joke. But as always, they were staring straight ahead, taking notes, answering questions. Twice did it fall off of her shoulder, but she just sighed and continued on how amazingly written the play was.

By the 3rd week, it was just a part of her, and we forgot to question it. A new dressing style that was in fashion.

Based off of the time when a few girls brought a blanket to class

Tears

Chapter 1

Based on true moments

It's day 3 and we're walking back to our classes from second recess. I see him jump and tap the top of another girl’s head and I look back once I hear her yelp out. She's pretty, I don't blame him for talking to her instead of me. She storms ahead and he chases after her, the two eventually slowing down, my eyes following but my feet keeping a safe pace multiple feet behind the two. He smiles cheekily seeing her face, the two having a clear playful banter. I wonder why he talks to her like that while he says he likes me but walks past me like I'm a ghost. I wonder if he truly likes her instead. But I don’t blame him. My heart hurt at that moment, and my eyes started to swell up in tears. But my face remained still, my eyes locked on his stupid smile and her annoyed but sweet smile. Her hair was in two braids that reached just below her shoulders, tan skin and beauty marks on her face. She was a bit shorter than him. They would make a great couple. I looked up at the sky and let out a shaky breath, most of it making my cheeks puff out as I kept my hands in my hoodie pockets, my fidgeting growing tenser. But I looked forward, my eyes stinging and blurring as I walked inside the school building and up the stairs. But once I sat down in my seat during science I sighed again, my back hunching with my hands holding my head, covering my face from the students that started to slowly enter the classroom once recess was coming to a full closure. My sight blurred and my lip trembled like a small child, despite the fact I was indeed merely a small child.

It was quiet.

Except for the occasional screams and cries that came from the television. The Riverr family, a family of four were seated on a couch in their humble abode, eyes peeled attentively into what you will call a midsized television.

They had switched off all lights in the room, all in an attempt to give the cinematic vibes and to gave the experience offered by the movie they were watching; 'El in hell'

It wasn't just your regular horror movie containing clowns holding knives or some other strange weapon, it was one with all the scary things you could imagine and more.

Sometime later, the television went completely dark and the credits began running, the movie had ended.

The family remained seated, still shaken by the movie they had just watched when suddenly, Saad, an eleven year old let out a growl.

"I'm a monster and I am here to scare you."

They all burst into laughter even though the effects of the movie still sent chills down their spine, perhaps even masking the fear with their laughs.

"Alright, that's enough for today." Their mother stood up and turned on the lights,

"Time for bed"

While Saad kicked off a little, Olivia, the older child got up and straightened the wrinkles on her clothes. "Good night."

Eventually, they all settled in their rooms.

___ Midnight _____

Saad waited until he heard the faint 'click' sound of his mother's room shutting close before he pulled his blanket which was over his face and picked up his tablet. He sat up straight and started playing his favourite video game.

As he played his game, he felt a shadow over him, leaning.

He paused, turning his head, but saw no one.

"What am I thinking? Focus," he whispered then turned back to his game, but he couldn't focus.

He kept feeling as though a presence was behind him. And no matter how hard he tried to ignore the feeling, he couldn't, not especially after the room suddenly and slowly began turning cold.

He dropped the game, unable to take it anymore.

Saad walked quietly and slowly to his window, as he opened the curtains he found it locked. But the room was still getting cold.

Unsure what to do, and scared to get scolded by his mom for not going to bed on time if he went out of his room, he quietly, and with shaky breath wrapped his bedsheet over his head and forced himself to bed.

___Next morning___

Olivia sat up on her bed with her phone in her hand when the door burst open and Saad entered.

"You need to hear what happened to me last night," he said looking at her.

"Don't you know how to knock?" she frowned, putting her phone face down on the bed.

"Sorry." He climbed onto her bed and pulled the bedsheet to himself. "Anyway, last night I was playing my games when..."

"You still stay up late, huh, you really aren't afraid of Mom taking your phone away, are you?" she interrupted, cutting him short.

"Would you at least let me finish?" Saad yelled already regretting coming to her.

Olivia put her hands up. "Alright, fine, let's hear it then."

"Okay," he began.

"Last night, I was playing my game, then I felt as if I was being watched, it was like in the movies, you know? Figure watching from the shadow."

Olivia's brows arched into a frown.

"And then my room became cold— the windows were shut but the room was cold, too cold even."

"In summer, your room was cold?" Olivia asked sarcastically.

"That's not the point... This house is haunted!"

"Oh dear, don't tell me the 'S' in your name stands for scaredy cat," she taunted, pulling his cheeks a bit.

"I'm not scared, I... I... I was telling you what happened last night."

"Oh yeah, tell me more." she teased further.

He stood up abruptly making his way out of her room. She chuckled slowly before picking up her phone.

_______Later______

Mrs Riverr hastily entered the kitchen. She was in the sitting room when she heard a whizzing noise from the kitchen.

She noticed the kettle which was sitting on the heater. "Did I leave the gas on?" she asked aloud.

She turned it off and turned to leave the room but a blender turned on, spinning rapidly, grinding— nothing. She turned horrified, but just as she did, the blender went off, then the kettle started whizzing again, then the blender, the kettle, the blender.

She quickly ran out of the kitchen, calling for her husband.

"What's the matter?" he asked, approaching her.

Without uttering a word, she held his hands and led him into the kitchen. But to her surprise, it was very peaceful, nothing, no blender or kettle strangely turning themselves off and on. She waited for a while but nothing happened.

"What is the matter? Are you going to tell me what's happening?" he asked.

"I don't — the blender kept turning on and so did the kettle."

"The kettle and the blender?" He asked unsure of what he heard.

"Are you still bent on giving me a scare?" He said, thinking she was just making jest to scare him. "Well too bad it won't work on me." He unhanded himself from her grip and walked out of the kitchen.

Mrs Riverr stood there, bewildered at what she had just witnessed. Somehow, she's managed to make breakfast amid the not-so-frequent chaos.

______ Olivia's Room ______

Olivia still maintained her earlier position when she suddenly jolted at the sound of something falling.

She raised her head to see a pen on the floor. At first, she ignored it, but it happened again.

She stood up and walked to her desk picked up the two pens and placed them in the case. As she turned around, she caught from the corner of her eyes, a silhouette taking a book from her shelf. She turned back as fast as she could but saw no one, but the book floated in the air for a split second before falling to the ground.

Olivia gasped and her breath hitched in her throat. She bolted out of her room and down the stairs. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she caught sight of her brother by the window, "Saad", she called out walking towards him but when she reached close enough, he disappeared.

But how was that possible, she was looking at him the whole... unless...

Saad came out of the kitchen, he had been unable to stay in his room. "Is something the matter?"

Olivia's head turned sharply as she stared at her brother, "Oh my goodness, I'm sorry for not believing you. You were right after all. Something really weird is going on."

He had a triumphant look on his face even though the affirmation didn't sit well with him.

Behind them, their mother listened with a horrified look, just what was happening?

_______

After breakfast, their father left for work. As he entered his car it refused to start. He went out to check the problem only to find no battery. He stormed back into the house, "Jess what do you think you're doing?".

"What is the matter?" She asked.

"Where's my car battery?"

"What do you mean, you know I don't use the car, so why would you ask me," she questioned back.

"Are you saying it just— disappeared?"

"How would I know that, just look around I am sure you'll find it somewhere."

With that, she turned back to what she was doing. He looked on, waiting for her to say she took it, but nothing. He then turned, heading back outside to his car, the hood was still open but from where he stood he saw the shiny top of the battery. He was utterly stunned by this.

"What the hell?" He mumbled under his breath.

He sighed brushed the matter off his mind and entered the car attempting to start it a second time but once again, it didn't.

Feeling irritated, he attempted to open the door but it did not move. After multiple failed attempts he recalled his wife's words.

"The blender and the kettle kept turning on."

"There's no way it was some ghost doing, right?" He asked himself.

He was stuck inside his car without knowing who was behind it.

Suddenly, a thought came to his mind, he picked up his phone to call his wife but it had no service. He groaned furiously before attempting to on the car again, but to his surprise, this time, it did.

__________ Later That Day ________

Mrs Riverr and Olivia were in the kitchen when they heard a loud thud from the second floor.

"Don't tell me he's at it again," Olivia said looking at her mother.

"Go check what's happening."

"Alright." Olivia walked out of the kitchen running up the flight of stairs to her brother's room.

The door was open and he was lying flat on the floor.

"Ugh, Saad," she said a little above a whisper.

As she approached him, his head twisted. His eyes were shut, he stood up turning his head back to the front. Olivia stepped back and ran out of his room and down the stairs.

"Mom! He— He... I think... !" she screamed in her voice.

Just then, their father came in from work. Saad was now standing on the last stairs. They all looked on in horror, and then he fell to the ground convulsing. When he stopped his eyes were open again.

He sat up and looked at them, Mrs Riverr rushed forward and embraced him tightly.

"Mom, Dad," Olivia began, "I think we should leave this house. I think it's— haunted."

_____

They both reasoned the idea and decided to call a friend who was a real estate agent.

After a few negotiations, they decided on which house to buy. Soon, the Riverr family were settling in a new house. As they sat down, they decided to have a toast.

With all four of them holding a glass of juice, their father stood up on his feet and sighed, exhausted from the move. "Cheers to our new home."

The kids raised their juice and they clunk their glasses when almost immediately the windows opened and closed again and then, just as all went silent, a knock on the door, four times, in succession.

_______

Written by IvyAce

Being seen before speaking!!

Anil Babu lives alone. With no family of his own, he plays every role in his solitary household. At 45, he has never married—and he has no desire to. His faith in love, trust, and companionship has long since eroded.

Each day follows a strict rhythm: wake up, cook, eat, go to the office. On the way home, he stops by College Street, buys used books by the kilo, shops for groceries, cooks dinner, reads, and then drifts into sleep. A quiet life governed by routine.

Then the lockdown strikes, upending everything.

Now confined indoors, he finds solace in the books he had recently bought in bulk. One afternoon, after lunch, he picks up a volume from the stack. As he opens the book, a folded letter tumbles out.

In earlier days, people often hid letters inside books—love notes tucked safely between the pages to avoid a prying eye. This seemed to be one of those. He gently unfolds the paper and begins reading.

The letter is from a girl to her boyfriend. She writes of a misunderstanding—an argument that erupted over her male friend, leading to a falling out. But she doesn’t want the relationship to end. She’s willing to sacrifice the friendship if that’s what it takes to prove her love.

She includes a recently installed landline number at her home and urges him to call if he still feels the same. It’s clear she hadn’t intended to end things—just mend them.

Anil Babu finishes reading and murmurs to himself, “So not all women are like her… not like my girlfriend, Mousumi. This girl truly loved him. They must be reunited.” He assumes she forgot to post the letter—perhaps she thought she had, or someone interrupted her as she was finishing it.

But there’s no name. No address. Neither the girl’s nor the boy’s. It’s as if the letter itself was left incomplete, tucked away in haste. It feels nearly two decades old.

Anil Babu wonders: Is she still waiting? Did they ever reunite? Or did they live their lives apart—two hearts fractured by a moment of doubt?

The questions wedge themselves into the silence of his days. He has to know.

Then he remembers: the letter mentioned her landline number.

With a surge of courage, he dials the number. To his surprise, it still exists. In the age of smartphones, the landline lives on. A child answers.

In a gentle voice, Anil asks, “How many women live in your house, little one?”

She replies, “My mom, me, and my grandma. My aunt Mou used to stay here too, but now she’s married and lives with her in-laws.” Then the call drops.

He tries calling again, but the line won’t connect.

“Mou,” he whispers. “So this was Mou’s letter. But is that her full name… or short for something?” His heart races.

Mousumi.

He freezes.

Could this be her letter? His Mousumi?

Rummaging through an old telephone directory, he searches for the number. And there it is—registered to the same address as Mousumi’s home.

It feels like the sky has collapsed around him.

A misunderstanding, a virus of suspicion, had brought lockdown into his own life twenty years ago. And perhaps, it was he who left a letter unread.