The stillness of afternoons.. A short story

 



The Stillness of Afternoons

by Faraz Parvez

In a quiet neighborhood of Lahore, where the sun dripped golden light onto the old, peeling walls, Sana sat on the veranda, watching the world move slowly. The ceiling fan hummed above, pushing the heavy afternoon air in lazy circles. She had always loved this time of day—when the world seemed to pause, just for a little while, before the evening rushed in with its noise, its demands.

Sana was thirty-two, unmarried, living in her parents' house. The conversations in the house often ended with unspoken words, unfinished thoughts. Her mother, Bibi Jaan, would sigh when she walked past Sana’s room, her bangles jingling faintly. Her father, a retired government clerk, had once asked, only half-jokingly, if she planned to get a job instead of waiting for "things to happen."

Sana was waiting, though she didn't know for what.

Across the street, Raza was repairing his motorbike. He was about her age, maybe a little older. He had lived in the same house since they were children. Back then, they had played cricket in the narrow alley, their laughter bouncing off the old brick walls. Now, he barely nodded when he saw her. She sometimes thought he wanted to say something but never did.

One afternoon, while the stillness was settling in, Raza called out, "Sana!"

She looked up, startled.

"Do you ever think about leaving?" he asked, wiping his hands on an old rag.

She didn't answer immediately. It was a strange question, and yet, not strange at all.

"Leaving what?" she finally asked.

"This street, this life… this waiting."

Sana hesitated, then smiled faintly. "And go where?"

Raza shrugged. "Anywhere."

She wanted to laugh, but something about his tone made her pause. The stillness of the afternoon had changed; it was suddenly heavier.

A few days later, she heard he had left—just like that. His house was locked, the motorbike gone. His mother sat outside in the evenings, staring at the road.

Sana still sat on the veranda in the afternoons. The stillness remained, but it felt different now—like something had shifted, just slightly, and she didn’t know whether it was inside or outside of her.

Maybe Raza was right. Maybe she, too, was waiting to leave.



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