Love of Souls

Some silences begin as shyness… but with time, they grow into prisons we build around our hearts.

Asad’s voice broke the quiet evening. Ahmad remained seated, his eyes fixed on the faceless girl above his desk.

“Now again… watching this painting for hours as you always do.”

“You didn’t have enough courage to express your feelings, so why use such huge words like Love of Souls, huh?” His tone was blunt, carrying frustration disguised as friendship. “If you don’t express what you carry inside, it becomes poison. Respect is good, dynamic even—but what’s love if it never reaches the one it belongs to?”

He stepped forward, voice lowering—not mocking now, but almost pleading.

“Don’t tell me this is some divine love story, Ahmad. Don’t make it a fairy tale where silence is enough. It’s not. Love is not some sacred poem you whisper to yourself—it’s something you fight for. Something you say.”

Asad’s words hung in the air like smoke after a fire.

“You loved her soul, right? Beautiful. But what did that give you? A painting? A prayer? An ache that keeps rotting your chest every night?”

He stopped, softer now. “I’m your friend, bro. And I’m telling you—this thing inside you... it’ll kill you slowly. You call it Love of Souls. But if it stays caged in your heart, someday it’ll become regret.”

Ahmad finally moved. He blinked once, then twice. His voice, when it came, was low and calm—worn like a stone smoothed by time.

“Hmm… I never had the courage to express myself. Not now. Not in my past.”

“And that,” he paused, eyes still lost in the painting, “is exactly why she became my love.”

He leaned back, slowly sinking into the wooden chair beside his desk. The room dimmed with the fading sunlight, and his voice slipped into a memory.

Flashback Begins

Years ago. First day of school.

Ahmad sat at the back of the classroom, his small fingers clutched tightly around the strap of his schoolbag. His eyes never rose. The walls felt like they were closing in, filled with voices louder than his thoughts. It was his first day—and silence had always been his shield.

The math teacher entered the classroom and scanned the students. His eyes landed on the shy boy in the back.

“You. In the back. Stand up. What’s your name?”

Ahmad froze.

He rose slowly, legs slightly shaking. His lips parted, but his throat collapsed inward. No sound.

The teacher waited, then frowned.

“Come on, son. Just your name.”

Still nothing.

A few kids giggled. One leaned over and whispered, “I think he’s mute.”

The teacher tried again.

“Alright then, tell me where you’re from.”

Silence.

And then — she stood up.

From the third row — a girl in a neat white scarf, eyes steady with calm confidence.

“Sir, he’s Ahmad. He’s from our neighborhood.”

The teacher turned to her, mildly surprised.

“You know him?”

“Yes, sir,” she said gently. “He’s very shy. He doesn’t even come outside to play games. But he’s… smart. He just needs time.”

The room fell quiet.

The teacher studied her for a moment, then looked back at Ahmad.

“Fine. Sit down, both of you.”

The teacher wrote a long equation on the board, something slightly advanced for the class.

“Alright. Who can solve this?”

Silence.

It wasn’t an impossible question — just unfamiliar. No hands rose. Most of the class avoided eye contact.

So, the teacher sighed and began solving it himself.

But at the very back, Ahmad solved it in his notebook even before any body wrote from the board. Line by line. Quietly. Accurately.

Not to impress.

Just to understand.

Then he heard her voice again.

Soft. Close.

“You solved it?”

He looked up. Sarah — that was her name — had turned around slightly, her eyes catching the scribbles in his notebook.

He nodded, hesitantly.

“Then why didn’t you raise your hand?” she asked.

Sarah smiled faintly. Not a teasing smile — but one of quiet understanding.

“If you can solve problems… but never raise your hand, no one will know what you’re capable of.”

“And if you don’t express your feelings, Ahmad… you may carry a voice inside you that no one else will ever hear.”

“Don’t let silence hide what makes you special.”

Then she turned back to her notebook — as if she hadn’t just changed his life.

Ahmad sat frozen for a moment.

That day, she didn’t give him a lesson in maths.

She gave him a lesson in courage.

And from that moment… he began seeing her not as a classmate, but as the voice he never had.

[Back to Present]

The memory faded like sunlight at dusk, but its warmth remained. Ahmad’s fingers brushed the edge of the faceless canvas, as if her words had been painted into it.

He didn’t turn toward Asad. But his eyes blinked slowly, like someone returning from a long journey.

“You told me to express myself…” he said softly. “You know who said that first?”

Asad tilted his head, surprised.

“She did.”

Ahmad looked at the blank painting one last time — and this time, it didn’t feel empty.

It felt full of all the things he never said.

To Be Continue…

In the echo of her words, Ahmad realized—some silences aren’t broken by voices, but by the memory of those who once believed on him.