Whispers Behind the Wall:

It changed into the kind of community where everybody knew every different’s names, birthdays, and favourite chai spots. Nestled within the coronary heart of Karachi, Block 7 of Gulshan-e-Iqbal had constantly felt secure — an area wherein children performed cricket till sundown and aunties exchanged recipes over balconies. however the whole thing modified the night Mrs. Shabnam disappeared.

She wasn’t famous, wealthy, or arguable. only a retired schoolteacher who lived on my own in a modest -story house with peeling paint and a garden complete of marigolds. Her absence wasn’t noticed at once. It was most effective when her neighbor, Farah, found out the lighting fixtures hadn’t been grew to become on for 2 nights that problem started to stir.

The first Discovery

Farah knocked on Shabnam’s door. No solution. She referred to as. No reaction. finally, she contacted the police. once they arrived and broke open the door, the residence turned into eerily silent. No signs of forced entry. No blood. No struggle. just a half of-under the influence of alcohol cup of tea on the desk and 2 slippers smartly positioned by the bed.

The best extraordinary component? A single phrase scratched into the wall behind the scenes within the living room: “listen.”

The neighborhood Reacts

Panic unfold like wildfire. WhatsApp businesses buzzed with theories. a few blamed robbers, others whispered about jinns. some claimed that they had heard peculiar sounds — tapping, whispering — coming from Shabnam’s residence within the nights main as much as her disappearance.

The police launched an investigation, but weeks exceeded without a leads. No fingerprints. No CCTV pictures. No ransom word. It became as if she had evaporated.

Farah’s Obsession

Farah couldn’t permit it move. She had recognized Shabnam for years — shared meals, memories, even grief. The word “pay attention” haunted her. What did it mean? become it a warning? A clue?

She started out spending nights in Shabnam’s house, hoping to listen something. And one night, she did.

At exactly 2:13 AM, a faint tapping echoed through the partitions. Rhythmic. deliberate. She followed the sound to the dwelling room, in which the word “pay attention” become etched. She pressed her ear to the wall. nothing. but when she whispered, “Shabnam?” — the tapping stopped.

The Hidden Room

Pushed via intuition, Farah contacted a contractor to inspect the house. After hours of probing, they found a fake wall at the back of the residing room — a slim, hidden area no wider than a closet. inner, they located:

A damaged radio

A stack of old notebooks

And a small replicate, cracked down the center

The notebooks have been full of Shabnam’s handwriting. however the entries were peculiar — fragmented mind, names crossed out, and repeated terms like: “They watch from the silence.” “The wall recalls.”

The Forgotten beyond

Digging deeper, Farah uncovered something chilling. many years in the past, before Shabnam moved in, the residence had belonged to a person named Rafiq, who turned into arrested for allegedly jogging an underground surveillance ring. He had mounted hidden microphones and cameras in neighboring houses, recording personal conversations and blackmailing citizens.

The case changed into buried quietly. Rafiq died in custody. The residence became bought. no one said it again.

Had Shabnam determined remnants of his operation? became she being watched? Had a person silenced her to defend antique secrets and techniques?

The Emotional Toll

Farah became ate up. She stopped going to work, distanced herself from buddies, and spent her days interpreting Shabnam’s notebooks. Her own family begged her to let it move, however she couldn’t. “She didn’t just vanish,” Farah insisted. “She become erased.”

The community grew less warm. humans stopped speakme approximately Shabnam. Her house changed into categorized “haunted.” kids crossed the road to avoid it. however Farah stayed.

The final Message

Six months after Shabnam’s disappearance, Farah received a letter. No return address. interior was a unmarried page from Shabnam’s pocket book, one which hadn’t been located before. It read:

“in case you’re analyzing this, they didn’t locate it. I heard them inside the walls. I saw the wires. I realize what they did. Don’t stop listening.”

Farah exceeded the letter to the police. They reopened the case, however again — no leads. No suspects. No resolution.

The Silence That remains

today, Shabnam’s residence stands empty. The marigolds have withered. The word “listen” has diminished. however Farah nonetheless walks beyond it every nighttime, pausing for a second, pressing her ear to the wall.

She says she nonetheless hears the tapping.

And sometimes, she whispers back.