The Friendly Wife Who Never Slept

Arman always believed he was the luckiest man alive. His wife, Samira, was the kind of woman everyone admired. She had a smile for the neighbors, food ready for the children, and warm words even for strangers who wandered too close to their doorstep. People often whispered that Samira was too kind — the kind of kindness that seemed almost unnatural.

But there was one thing about her that unsettled Arman: she never slept.

At first, he thought it was harmless. He would drift off around midnight, tired from long hours at work, and when he woke up at dawn, Samira would already be in the kitchen, humming softly while stirring breakfast. Her eyes never looked tired. Her smile never faded. She never yawned, never stretched, never showed any sign of needing rest.

“Samira,” he asked one morning, “when do you sleep?”

She only smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry about me, Arman. I’ll sleep when I’m tired.”

But she never was.

---

The Whispers at Night

It wasn’t until the third month of their marriage that Arman began to notice something strange.

One night, unable to sleep, he walked into the hallway to get water. That’s when he heard it — a soft murmur of voices coming from the living room. He froze. It was past 2 a.m.

Slowly, he peeked inside.

Samira was sitting on the floor, her long hair covering her face, whispering softly into the darkness. The room was empty. No one else was there.

“Samira?” he whispered.

Her head snapped up. She smiled. “I was just… talking to myself. Go back to bed.”

Her voice was calm, but Arman could have sworn he saw shadows moving across the walls, though there were no lights to cast them.

From that night on, he noticed it often. Whenever he pretended to sleep, Samira would get up, walk around the house, and murmur to unseen companions. Sometimes she would laugh softly, as though answering a joke only she could hear.

---

The Village Rumors

The neighbors adored Samira. They said her kindness was unmatched. She listened to everyone’s troubles, offered comfort, and even stayed up late to keep company with the lonely old widow across the street.

But one evening, Arman overheard two old men whispering at the market.

“She’s too friendly,” one said. “Never sleeps, never tires… I’ve seen that before.”

The other lowered his voice. “That’s not a blessing, it’s a curse. Some wives… they’re not wives at all. They’re vessels.”

Arman’s stomach turned cold.

When he confronted Samira about the rumors, she only smiled, placing her hand on his cheek. “Do you love me, Arman?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Then don’t listen to what others say. I’m here, with you. That’s all that matters.”

Her words were gentle. Too gentle. Almost rehearsed.

---

The Night of No Return

One night, determined to uncover the truth, Arman pretended to fall asleep. Around 3 a.m., Samira rose from bed, her steps silent. She moved to the living room, and the whispers began again.

This time, Arman followed.

He stopped in the doorway — his heart nearly stopped too.

The entire living room was filled with shadows. Figures, dark and faceless, sat in a circle around Samira. She was laughing, serving them tea from cups that were empty. The shadows bent toward her, whispering in voices that made the air heavy.

“Samira…” Arman croaked.

Every head in the room turned toward him — not just hers, but the shadows too.

Samira’s smile widened unnaturally. “Oh, Arman. You weren’t supposed to see this.”

The shadows rose. Their forms stretched across the walls, filling every corner of the house. The air grew cold, and the lights flickered.

Samira stood up, her face half-shadow, half-human. “Now you know why I never sleep,” she whispered. “Because while you dream… I keep them company.”

---

Aftermath

No one in the village saw Arman again after that night. The neighbors asked Samira where he had gone, and she only smiled kindly.

“He left,” she said softly. “He couldn’t sleep here.”

Her smile never faltered. Her kindness never ended. And every night, the light in her living room stayed on until dawn, long after the rest of the village had gone quiet.

They still call her the friendly wife. But the old ones warn their children never to knock on her door after midnight.

Because if you do… she might just invite you in.