Hanif Amin

Echoes of the Unseen

The heavens—once a boundless expanse of blue where clouds drifted slow and sunlight poured through like liquid gold—had become motionless. Now they hung like silent observers above, uncaring toward the turmoil unfolding beneath. The streets that used to pulse with life, where the smell of fresh bread mixed with children’s laughter, now lay in broken pieces, dreams that were broken, and quiet prayers carried by the wind. That is to say, the vibrancy had vanished like a mirage, leaving behind only remnants of what once was.