Silence Has a Name

In a small, quiet town nestled between rolling hills, everyone knew everyone. It was the kind of place where secrets were hard to keep, and life moved slowly, like the winding river that cut through the valley. People lived simple lives, greeting each other with smiles and small talk. But when a new boy named Naveed arrived at the local school, things began to change.

Naveed was different. He didn’t speak a word. Ever. He didn’t even whisper to the kids who tried to talk to him. His dark eyes were always focused on something—usually a small notebook he carried with him everywhere. He sat at the back of the class, his head down, writing or drawing in that notebook. Sometimes, he’d look up and stare at something in the distance, his face full of sadness, as if he was remembering something terrible.

Anaya, a curious and kind-hearted girl, couldn’t stop thinking about him. She had seen people come and go in the town, but she had never met anyone like Naveed. At first, she thought maybe he was just shy. But as the days passed, she realized his silence wasn’t because he was nervous or unsure. There was something deeper, something darker behind his quietness.

One afternoon, after school, Anaya found herself walking behind Naveed as he left the school grounds. She had made up her mind. She was going to talk to him, try to understand what was going on inside his head. She approached him slowly, keeping her voice gentle.

“Hi, Naveed,” she said, offering him a friendly smile. “I’m Anaya. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime. Maybe we could… talk?”

Naveed didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her. He just kept walking, but Anaya wasn’t ready to give up. She followed him for a while, and as she did, she noticed something. His notebook. It wasn’t just filled with words or sketches—it was filled with strange, cryptic drawings. Dark images of people, places, and things that Anaya didn’t understand. But one thing stood out to her: there was a recurring image of a house. The same house, over and over again. And in the background of every drawing, there was a shadowy figure, standing still, watching.

Curiosity gnawed at Anaya. She had to know what it all meant.

The next day, after school, she saw Naveed sitting alone by the old oak tree in the schoolyard. His notebook was open on his lap, and he was staring at it with that same distant look in his eyes. Anaya approached him again, this time more gently, her voice soft.

“I found your notebook,” she said, sitting beside him. “I’ve been looking at your drawings. They’re… they’re beautiful, but also kind of… sad.”

Naveed didn’t respond. He didn’t even flinch. But Anaya could tell he was listening. Slowly, she pointed to one of the drawings of the house.

“Is this your house?” she asked quietly. “The one in the pictures?”

He looked at the drawing, then back at her. His eyes were wide with fear, and for the first time, Anaya saw the pain in his gaze. It wasn’t just sadness—it was something deeper, something he couldn’t put into words. And in that moment, Anaya understood. Whatever had happened to Naveed, whatever he had seen, it was something terrible.

Over the next few weeks, Anaya kept talking to him, sitting with him during lunch, trying to learn more about his past. One day, she noticed that the drawings had started to change. They weren’t just pictures of the house anymore. They were pictures of a man—an older man, tall and powerful-looking. His face was always hidden in the shadows, but his presence was unmistakable. Anaya felt a chill run down her spine as she realized something: the man in the drawings was someone from their town.

Anaya spent more time with Naveed, piecing together the clues. She noticed that the house in the pictures was close to the edge of town, and she had heard whispers from older people about a tragedy that had happened there long ago—a crime that was never solved, a mystery that had been buried by the town.

One day, after Anaya had gathered enough courage, she asked Naveed the one question that had been burning in her mind.

“Naveed,” she said softly, “did you see something happen? Something bad? Is that why you’re so… silent?”

For the first time, Naveed met her eyes. His lips trembled, and for a moment, it seemed as though he was about to speak. But then, he looked down at his notebook, his fingers brushing the pages nervously. He didn’t say a word.

Anaya’s heart sank. She knew the truth now. Naveed had witnessed something terrible, something that no child should ever see. And now, he was trapped in his silence, not just by fear, but by the weight of what he knew.

The next few days were tense. Anaya couldn’t stop thinking about what Naveed had seen, and about the man in the drawings. She knew that if Naveed ever spoke, everything would change. The truth could destroy lives. But the silence—Naveed’s silence—was also destroying him.

Finally, one afternoon, after a long silence between them, Naveed handed Anaya his notebook. In the back, he had drawn one last picture: the house, the shadowy figure, and at the bottom, a single word.

“Run.”

Anaya knew what she had to do. She couldn’t undo the past, but maybe, just maybe, she could help Naveed find a way to move forward.

And as she looked at the notebook one last time, she whispered to herself, “The truth has to come out. For both of us.”

The town would never be the same again.