Before dawn broke, Anisa left the small rented room quietly, as if even the air might betray her presence. She covered herself simply and walked with lowered eyes, carrying grief that felt heavier than her body.
From a distance, she watched. 👁👁
Because Zayan was a devout Muslim, his family moved swiftly. Within twenty-four hours, his body had been washed and prepared with care and reverence. Anisa saw the imam arrive, heard the soft rhythm of funeral prayers rising into the early morning sky. The words were unfamiliar to her, yet the sorrow in them needed no translation.
When the funeral procession began, the body was carried with solemn dignity toward the cemetery. Anisa followed far behind, hidden among strangers, keeping enough distance to remain unseen,close enough to say goodbye in her heart. 💞
At the burial ground, she stood frozen.
Zayan's body was placed directly into the grave, laid gently upon the earth. There was no coffin. No barrier between him and the soil. Anisa's breath caught in her chest. Until now, she had only ever seen burials where the body was lowered inside a box. This was different; raw, intimate, final. 😔
One by one, the mourners stepped forward, each adding handfuls of soil into the grave. The sound of earth falling echoed like a slow, cruel drumbeat in Anisa's ears. When the grave was filled, the people gathered close once more as the imam delivered the final "talqin" words spoken to the departed, reminding the soul of faith, of answers, of the journey beyond.
Then, gradually, the crowd dispersed. 🍃
Voices faded. Footsteps moved away. Life continued.
Anisa remained.
Only when the cemetery was nearly empty did she turn away, tears streaming freely now. She cried as she walked, her sobs swallowed by the quiet morning. There had been no last touch, no final kiss, no farewell spoken aloud. 😪
She had loved him in silence.
And she had buried him in silence too. 🤐