The City of Silence

The first rays of dawn gilded the domes and minarets of Naya Sheher, but today, the light felt hollow, devoid of life. Fahad stood frozen by his apartment window – his ears ringing with a terrifying, absolute silence. Where was the cacophony? The blaring horns, the fruit vendors' cries, the rattle of cycle rickshaws, the chirping of sparrows… everything had vanished. It was as if someone had muted the entire city.

Panic seized him. He rushed to his front door. Outside, people crowded the alleyways – gesturing frantically, mouths opening and closing – yet no sound emerged. Their eyes mirrored the same terrified question: "What is happening?" An old man clutched his throat, desperately mouthing words at his son, but nothing was heard. A little girl tried to cry, her mother hugging her tightly to soothe her – yet there was no wail, no sob. The world had become a silent film.

Then, the first miracle occurred. Safia, a young woman watching from her balcony, reached out towards her mother. Her lips formed the word, "Ammi..." (Mom...), but no voice came. Instantly, shimmering words materialized in the still air: "I love you." Tears welled in Safia’s eyes. These were the words she’d never dared to speak to her stern, yet beloved mother.

This was the beginning. The city wasn't silent anymore – it was filled with the fear of silence, but also birthed a new language:

1. The Language of Air: People’s unspoken thoughts began appearing as luminous text. A shopkeeper gazed at his empty cot; the air flickered: "My wife, come back." A driver stared at his broken rickshaw; words formed: "How will I feed my family now?" An elderly Urdu poetry professor, Irtiza Sahab, looked skyward, and a couplet materialized:

"Silence has stolen my voice, it's true,

But the wounds of my heart now write themselves on the blue."

• 2. The Void of Everyday Life: The city's soul had been hollowed out: The Tea Stall: People gathered, but there was no hiss of the kettle, no clink of glasses, no murmur of gossip. Just futile lip movements and empty gestures. One man stared at his cup; the air replied: "The tea tastes like ash today."
• The Mosque: Noon arrived, but the Call to Prayer never sounded. Faithful men stood lined up, performing ablutions and prayers in utter soundlessness. A worshipper gazed towards Mecca; the air confessed: "Will my prayers even be heard?"
• The Marketplace: Fruits, clothes, wares – all glittered under the sun, but vendors and customers communicated only through desperate eyes. Bargains, foolish banter, sales pitches – all erased. Only raw feelings surfaced in the air: "Inflation is killing us," "Lower the price for this cloth."

3. Panic and the Search for Answers: People checked phones, internet, radios – all dead. The air filled with their silent screams: "Is this magic?" "Has the world ended?" "Are we all dead?" Crowds gathered outside government offices, but officials were powerless. Their aerial confessions mirrored the terror: "We can do nothing," "Even the Minister is mute."

4. Professor Irtiza's Revelation: Professor Irtiza sat amidst his books. An expert in Urdu literature, he observed patterns: words only appeared for genuine emotions or aching absences (like the missing Azan, the tea-seller's call). Names, calculations, idle chatter – nothing manifested. He pulled out an old diary where he'd poured his grief after his wife Ayesha’s death. He focused, trying to will words into the air: "Ayesha, I miss you." The letters shimmered, flickered, then blazed brightly. Suddenly, lightning struck his mind:

"Perhaps this silence is our own curse! The words we never spoke… the ones we swallowed… they are the ones writing themselves in the air now! Our silences, our fake smiles, our buried pain… it's all spilling out! This is the fruit of our 'Goongi' – our deliberate muteness!"

He had to spread this truth. Tearing a page from his diary, he began writing furiously. Aerial words mirrored his script:

• (Written): "OUR SILENCE IS OUR OWN CONSPIRACY!"
• (Air): "What we hid is now hiding us!"
• (Written): "TAKE BACK YOUR VOICE!"
• (Air): "Only speaking will break this spell!"

5. The Revolution of Silence: Irtiza Sahab's message spread like wildfire. People understood: This wasn't punishment, it was the scream of suppressed feeling. The terror of silence began to recede. People looked at each other. A young man approached his father, estranged for years. The air confessed: "Dad... forgive me." Tears sprang to the father's eyes; the air replied: "Son... I was wrong too." Their reconciliation hung luminous in the space between them. A woman turned to her sister; the air admitted: "I envied your wedding, forgive me." The sister smiled sadly; the air answered: "I still need your blessings." Truth became their bridge.

6. The First Sound: Dusk was falling. People were connecting, baring their souls through the air-text. Suddenly, a small boy, who had spent the entire day mute and trembling in his mother's lap, whimpered:

• "I'm... scared."

That tiny, trembling voice shattered the silence like glass. The whole neighbourhood turned. Then… another sound… and another… bonds were breaking. Voices were returning! Not as loud, not as chaotic, but they were returning! Horns blared again, but now without the old, frantic aggression. A man called out to his friend: "Hey, buddy!" And then, the most beautiful sound of all – the Call to Prayer echoed through the alleys, clear and resonant: "Allahu Akbar..." (God is Great).

The Silence After the Silence:

Fahad stood once more at his window. Sounds had returned to the city, but they were different. People spoke less, listened more, and looked into each other's eyes when they did speak. The fear of silence was gone, replaced by a profound lesson: Words don't just cut through air; they stitch hearts together. Swallowed words become daggers.

Safia hugged her Ammi tightly. She had her voice back. She whispered, "Ammi... I truly do love you." Her mother patted her back – the sound was there, but the love was also written in the air and sealed within their hearts.

Professor Irtiza watched from his window, a gentle smile on his face. The city had reclaimed its sound, but more importantly, it had recognized the power it held. This was no longer "Naya Sheher" (New City). It had become a "Zinda Sheher" (Living City), where everyone now felt the weight, the emotion, and the profound difference between a word spoken and a silence endured. Silence was no longer a terror... it had become the respectful pause where every word learned to cherish its own immense worth.