The Green Shirt (Short Story)

The Green Shirt

Written By: Mohamed Matbouly

(Note: This story was written by me in Arabic, translated by Google translate to English, then edited by google Bard, and the cover photo was generated by new Bing).

I woke up early, and as I prepared to start a new day, my eyes were drawn to it—the green shirt with small squares, crumpled in one corner of the room. It seemed that I had neglected to send it for ironing several times until I forgot about it. I passed by it, mumbling to myself:

"When I return in the evening, I'll make sure to iron it."

As I sifted through my wardrobe, searching for a ready-made shirt, a peculiar thought overwhelmed me:

"What would I do if I woke up one day to the news that all the dry cleaning shops in the world had closed? Would I spend the rest of my life wearing rumpled clothes?"

I remembered a time when I rarely used the iron, unsure of its current whereabouts. I embarked on a quest to find it and began pressing the shirt. Then, a distant voice echoed in my ears:

"Handle the iron with care to straighten the fabric. Press the front of the shirt more firmly. Take your time with the sleeves. Adjust the collar and cuffs. The back still needs another pass."

I turned around, expecting to see my father, the eternal guide in my life. But he was no longer present, having departed from this world, leaving behind his wisdom and guidance as cherished memories.

As I continued ironing the shirt, I conjured images of my father standing behind me, his words of advice resounding in my mind. I could almost feel his hand guiding mine, ensuring perfection in every crease. Yet, it was merely a poignant illusion, a way for me to seek solace in his memory.

Upon finishing, I scrutinized the shirt, uttering my familiar words:

"It's still a bit wrinkled."

However, this time, silence prevailed. No playful response or witty remark from my father filled the room. The void of his absence weighed heavy on my heart, a constant reminder of the unbreakable bond we shared.

With a bittersweet smile, I silently acknowledged him, swiftly donned the shirt, and embarked on my day's endeavors. Along the way, I whispered verses from the Holy Quran, seeking solace and praying for the tranquility of my father's departed soul.

The green shirt, once a simple piece of clothing, now bore the weight of memories and profound loss. Each time I wore it, I felt an indelible connection to my father—a symbol of his love and enduring guidance that would forever reside within my heart.

The end.