Laraib Afzal

BS International Relations (7^th Semester)

After a long time, I finally thought of writing again. I don’t know why there was such a long silence; maybe I forgot how to write, or perhaps I just couldn’t find the right words anymore.

But let’s not dwell on that. The silence, however, was not without consequence. It was as if I had been holding my breath, waiting to exhale into words that refused to come. The quiet became both a companion and a prison, a space where thoughts flickered but never dared to ignite. Maybe it was fear that I had nothing worthwhile to say, or perhaps it was fear of the words themselves. The cost of silence is that it dulls the edges of expression until you begin to wonder if you still have any words left to give.

Today, the story unfolds of a girl who appears vibrant and lively on the surface, yet within her, an unseen storm brews. Her eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape, as her hands clutch tightly, a silent fight against the world she inhabits. Each step she takes is hesitant, as if testing the waters for hidden dangers. Her silence speaks louder than words, the echoes of a tempest swirling endlessly within.

A quiet girl, gentle in nature, unaware of the chaos of the world around her. This is the story of Amal Zawar.

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Hospital

Nurse (breathless): Doctor, the patient’s condition is worsening! She’s having fits again; we’ve tried everything, but the staff can’t control her!

Doctor (rushing into the room): Calm down, calm down. Relax. No one will come in, and no one will make any noise. do you trust me? I won’t let anyone disturb you. Just relax... relax...

(The patient slowly lies back and closes her eyes.)

(Echoes…laughter, faint voices “Amal… Amal beta… Amal… Amal…” laughter…echoes…) Patient (screaming): Ahhhhh!

Doctor: You need to get better soon. Try to let go of these thoughts.

Patient: Doctor… these voices, they’ll drive me insane. They never stop; they never leave me. The moment I close my eyes, I feel—

Doctor: Alright, alright. Take this medicine; it will help you relax.

(The patient closes her eyes again.)

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Flashback

Zawar: Sara, I told you to cover those marks on your face. We’re having guests tonight. We must look like a perfect couple; is that clear?

Sara (voice trembling): Okay… (After Zawar leaves)

Sara: Amal… Amal beta, why are you wandering around? Come here.

Amal: Mama, I’m scared of Baba. Why does he hit you? Mama, Hafsa said, “Your dad is not a good man.” Mama… what will I do?

Sara: My child, don’t be afraid. Your dad doesn’t hit me. I just fell and got hurt. Amal: Mama, you’re lying…

(Zawar enters the room.)

Zawar: What’s going on here? Sara: Nothing, we were just talking.

(Amal runs to her room.)

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Hospital

Patient (crying out): No! No! Don’t hit! He’s not good… no, he’s not! (The nurse gives her an injection; the patient slips back into her mind’s shadows.)

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Flashback: The Night

(Amal is reading when loud shouting begins from the other room.)

Zawar: Marrying a woman like you was a sin! You gave me a daughter instead of a son! Sara: Zawar, she’s your daughter, your own blood! Zawar (slapping her): Maybe tonight I should end this once and for all!

(Amal, terrified, hides behind the sofa in the lounge, listening to every word.) Sara: No, Zawar! Please, don’t do this!

A gunshot echoes through the house. Sara (screaming): Ahhhhh! (Amal shivers, frozen in fear.)

Zawar (calling out): Amal… Amal! Amal, beta! Come to Baba… Amal!

(Amal runs out of the house, stumbling down the dark street. Headlights flash; a speeding car hits her.

People gather around, noise, confusion, panic. “Call an ambulance!” “Oh God, who was this girl?”

The crowd blurs. Amal’s eyes slowly close.

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Hospital

Doctor: You’re looking better today. Patient: I’m… trying, doctor. Doctor: Good. Tell me, do you remember your name? Any address? Anything at all? Patient (hesitant): I… I think… A… A… AMA… AMAL. Doctor: And your surname? Patient: N… No surname.

(whispers faintly) Amal Zawar… the name I hate.

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Note

Sometimes, it’s your own home that destroys you. Parents never realize what their fights and screams do to a child’s heart, how those sounds live on in their mind. Children stop speaking, stop feeling, and slowly begin to die from within.

And that night: what really happened? Did Sara survive? Was the gunshot real, or just meant to frighten her? Or had Amal’s fear grown so deep that she lost her grip on what was real and what wasn’t? No one knows. Only one thing is certain: Amal’s journey was truly a nameless one.