"The Shadow Friend"

Andraw had always been a little different.

While the other children in the village chased goats through tall grass or splashed about in the river, Andraw would sit alone under the shade of the old date palm tree, a tattered book in his lap or his gaze fixed on clouds that drifted like forgotten dreams. He spoke little and smiled rarely, but there was a softness in his eyes—a quiet world spinning behind them that few could see.

What made Andraw truly unusual, however, was his “friend” someone no one else could see.

He called him Shadow. Shadow wasn’t like other friends. He didn’t go to school, didn’t eat meals with the family, and never needed to sleep. But he was always there. When Andraw was sad, Shadow would listen. When he laughed, Shadow echoed it with a sound like wind through leaves. And when Andraw was afraid, Shadow sat close, a comforting warmth without a body.

His family thought it was just a child’s fantasy. “All children invent things,” his mother would say, brushing crumbs off the table. “He’ll grow out of it.”

But to Andraw, Shadow wasn’t made-up. Shadow was real.

One golden afternoon, as cicadas hummed in the heat, Andraw sat beneath the date palm, the rough bark against his back. He was quiet, thoughtful.

“Shadow,” he asked softly, “who are you, really?”

Shadow didn’t answer immediately. He never rushed things.

Finally, he said, “I’m a story that was never written. You created me with your loneliness… and with your love. I exist as long as you believe in me.”

Andraw blinked. “But…... what happens if I stop believing?”

Shadow smiled, though there was sadness in it. “Then I go where all forgotten things go. But I won’t be angry. That’s just how it is.”

Andraw didn’t understand it all then, but he nodded.

Years passed, as they tend to do. Childhood gave way to adolescence, and then to adulthood. Andraw moved away to the city for university, full of bright lights and long nights and endless demands. In the rush of schedules and grades and job interviews, the palm tree faded from memory. So did Shadow.

He didn’t notice the moment Shadow stopped appearing. It was slow, like forgetting a dream upon waking. At first, there was a faint feeling something was missing, like a room without its usual scent. But life kept moving, and Andraw moved with it.

Eventually, Shadow was no more than a vague ache tucked in the quiet corners of his mind.

Years turned like pages. Andraw worked in a glass-walled office, drank bitter coffee, scrolled endlessly through glowing screens. He laughed at polite jokes, went on forgettable dates, filled his life with noise. But sometimes, in the middle of a crowded street or while brushing his teeth in the mirror, he’d pause, heart fluttering like a bird against his ribs something almost remembered. Then the feeling would pass.

One evening, exhausted and aching for something he couldn’t name, Andraw packed a small bag and boarded a train to the village he hadn’t seen in years.

The moment he stepped off the dusty platform, the stillness hit him. It wasn’t silence ...it was the hum of wind in grass, the coo of doves nesting in rooftops, the soft rustle of trees. It was the kind of quiet that lets you hear your own heart again.

He walked slowly through the familiar dirt paths, past the bakery with its cracked windows, past the well that had run dry long ago. Finally, he reached it—the date palm tree.

It had grown a little taller, its fronds more weathered, but it was the same. He sat beneath it, the bark still rough, and leaned back with a sigh.

The sky above was awash with orange and violet. And then… he heard it. A whisper. So soft it might have been the breeze.

“You once said I’d live as long as you believed. Do you still believe?”

Andraw froze. His breath caught in his throat.

Slowly, tears filled his eyes.

“Shadow?” he whispered.

There was no figure to see, no face to touch. But there was presence familiar and gentle. The kind of presence that holds you even when you’re alone.

“I thought you were gone,” Andraw said, voice trembling.

“I was waiting,” the whisper replied. “That’s all a shadow can do.”

Andraw closed his eyes, letting the tears fall freely now. The tree, the wind, the golden dusk ...it all wrapped around him like an embrace. He realized then that belief isn’t something loud or grand. Sometimes, it's as small and quiet as a whisper in the dark.

Maybe shadows never really leave.

They just wait for belief to return.