The Boy Who Spoke to Shadows

The Boy Who Spoke to Shadows

Rayan was eight when he first noticed the extra shadow.

It appeared on a quiet November night — the kind where the cold crept under doors, and the moon shone bright enough to make the whole room glow silver. He had woken from a dream he couldn’t remember, his heart beating too fast, his throat too dry.

He turned toward the wall.

His shadow was there, sitting upright on the bed exactly like him.

But beside it…

a taller, thinner shadow stretched upward like a dark flame.

He froze.

He blinked.

It didn’t disappear.

“Who’s there?” he whispered.

The tall shadow tilted its head, as if surprised he could see it.

Then a soft, deep whisper filled the room:

“I’ve been here a long time.”

Rayan gasped.

He scrambled back, almost falling off the bed.

“Don’t be afraid,” the shadow said.

“If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it years ago.”

That didn't help.

Rayan clutched his pillow tightly.

“What do you want?”

The shadow’s shape flickered, growing slightly smaller, almost humbling itself.

“I want to tell you the truth.”

Rayan felt a strange tug in his chest — fear mixed with curiosity.

“What truth?”

The shadow’s voice grew gentle, like someone brushing dust from an old memory.

“You think you’re alone. But you aren’t. You were never alone.”

Rayan’s heart squeezed.

Since his mother passed away last winter, loneliness had followed him like a heavy fog. His father worked double shifts, rarely smiling, rarely speaking. The apartment felt too big, too quiet, too empty.

The shadow stepped closer to the wall.

“You see… shadows are born from light. We exist in the spaces people forget to look at.”

Rayan swallowed.

“So why are YOU here?”

The shadow hesitated — its outlines trembling like smoke.

“Because you kept calling me.”

“I didn’t call you!”

“Not with words.”

The shadow placed what looked like a hand on the wall, leaving a faint ripple behind.

“You called me with your sadness.”

Rayan’s eyes stung.

He hugged the pillow tighter.

“I miss her,” he whispered.

“I miss my mom every day.”

The shadow flickered softer, like twilight instead of night.

“I know,” it said.

“I was there… in the hospital room. You cried so much that day, the sun couldn’t reach you.”

Rayan sucked in a sharp breath.

“You… you saw that?”

“I see everything that falls into silence.”

A tear rolled down his cheek.

It felt like something inside him cracked open.

“Nobody talks to me,” he said quietly. “Not even Papa.”

The shadow leaned toward him, growing smaller and more human-shaped.

“That’s why I came.”

Rayan wiped his face.

“What are you?”

The shadow paused.

“I am what you need.”

Rayan blinked.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not here to scare you.”

The voice deepened, glowing with warmth like the first drop of sunrise.

“I am here to hold the pieces of you that hurt too much.”

Rayan’s breath trembled.

His small hands shook as he reached toward the wall.

To his shock…

the shadow reached back.

A cool, soft touch pressed against his palm — like touching moonlight.

“What’s your name?” Rayan whispered.

Shadows didn’t have names.

But this one hesitated… then said:

“You can call me Noor.”

“Noor?” Rayan repeated.

“But… that means light.”

The shadow shimmered gently.

“Even shadows need reminding.”

For the first time in months, Rayan smiled.

That night, the boy and the shadow sat together until dawn — sharing fears, sharing memories, sharing silence that didn’t feel empty anymore.

The next morning, when Rayan opened his eyes, Noor was gone.

But something remained:

The loneliness had cracked.

Just a little.

Just enough to let a sliver of light in.

And that sliver stayed.

Because Noor always came back

— whenever the room got too quiet,

or the nights got too heavy,

or Rayan forgot how to breathe without breaking.

He was never truly alone again.

Not anymore.