Sumbal and her brother Sami - The twins
Sumbal was 14 years old, living with her parents in the outskirts of Karachi. She was a quiet young girl and kept herself to herself.
Something strange was going on in her life for a few years, which she never really spoke about with anyone.
She would often feel a presence around her, a dark shadow that lingered beside her, an unseen appearance that whispered when no one else could hear. At times she felt it might be him.
Sami, who had passed away at only 3 years old, was her twin brother.
Maybe it was Sami, trying to tell me something she would say to herself.
Sumbal’s parents didn’t really speak about Sami as much as Sumbal wanted to hear about her twin brother; she wondered if maybe they were uncomfortable and didn’t want to reopen old wounds. Or maybe there was something else that they were hiding or wanted to forget. But Sumbal couldn’t forget.
Sumbal lay in her bed that one night, finding it difficult to sleep. The heavy rain and thunder were thrumming at her window while the wind howled in anger.
She once again felt his presence; unwillingly, she looked toward the side of her bookshelf, where she mostly found this dark and almost tangible figure.
The air grew thicker and heavier; she felt she was having trouble breathing, a gusty wind surrounded her room, and then suddenly paused as if someone was controlling it at the touch of a button.
She whispered, “Sami, are you there? Is it you?”
A faint rustle responded, like the gentle scrape of paper. Her curtains, shifted ever so slightly. Sumbal held her breath.
As she stared, the shape of a small figure seemed to coalesce near the foot of her bed. Pale and hollow, with eyes as dark as the stormy sky outside, Sami’s form took shape, casting no shadow on the walls. Sumbal’s heart raced, her throat tight, yet a strange calm washed over her.
She whispered so gently with barely a sound, “Sami, is it you?” she asked again.
The boy looked at her with an expression that seemed almost human yet oddly distant. Slowly, he raised a hand, pointing toward her old dollhouse that she no longer played with. Sumbal, transfixed, felt herself moving toward it, as if under a spell.
She opened the dollhouse doors, and there, in the attic of the tiny replica, was a small, dusty bed Sumbal had never seen it before; it hadn’t been there yesterday. The bed looked like it belonged to a doll no bigger than her palm. Lying on the bed was a tiny piece of folded paper. Trembling, Sumbal took it out and unfolded it.
The note read: “It was her.”
A cold shiver raced down her spine as she looked back to where Sami had been standing. The figure was gone, but the feeling of his presence remained, a constant, watchful weight. Sumbal didn’t understand, but something in her felt as if she had crossed a line, stepping into a place where the boundary between life and death was thin.
From that night on, Sumbal felt Sami’s presence more clearly. He was no longer waiting in the shadows but lingering just out of sight, a companion she could never escape. And sometimes, late at night, she’d hear a faint whisper near her ear, a voice that sounded almost like her own.
Writer | Scribbler of Dramatic Verses | Zoophilist | Empath |In the midst of writing my very first Novel | Mens Skincare Coming Soon | Husband’s Right Hand
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Waiting for part 2!!!!
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