When the Sounds Faded

That night, silence fell over the camp for the first time in months.

 

No explosions.

No sirens.

No cries of children.

 

Even the wind seemed exhausted, as if it too had decided to rest from carrying the scent of smoke.

 

I sat in front of the tent, watching the distant horizon, wondering:

Has the war truly ended?

Or is this the calm that comes before the storm returns again?

 

Children ran between the tents, laughing with trembling voices — afraid that their joy might awaken the fear again.

 

The adults, meanwhile, stood still, looking around quietly… as if they couldn’t believe the sky could really be this clear, without planes.

An old woman approached me and said in a hoarse whisper:

 

“Silence hurts, my son… it makes us count the missing, one by one.”

Her words pierced through my chest like a needle.

 

I looked around at the tents stretched endlessly across the horizon — each one holding an unfinished story, a delayed dream, and a name that would never answer again.

I raised my head to the sky and whispered:

“God, if this is the end of war, then please, let it be the beginning of life.”

 

Then I closed my eyes and listened to the beating of my heart echoing in the heavy silence…

 

It sounded exactly like a homeland trying to live again.