The first time the writer saw her silent, he was confused. He had grown used to her being the rhythm of the morning, the hymn of dusk. But the townspeople simply nodded to each other, understanding. They called it The Day of Her Silence. It was on that day, in hushed whispers over tea, that someone finally told him the truth. Years ago, Humaira had been a rising star in the city. Her voice had once filled concert halls, her name printed in gilded letters across posters and tickets. She had been celebrated, adored. But she was never quite at ease in the glittering world of stages and fame. Her songs were meant for healing, not performance.
