FADING JASMINE

"Chapter 1: Digging into the Past"

"The Ordinary Death and Murder lead to the same outcome, namely absence from this planet from now on. However, the circumstances that lead to them and the resulting consequences differ entirely. Thus, my daughter Samar, one who loses a loved one in an ordinary way, such as through illness or a heart attack, for example, cries, mourns, or remains silent for a while, but eventually accepts, adapts, and forgets. But in the case of losing someone through murder, they cry, mourn, stay silent, but can not accept, adapt, or forget. They add another stage, that of vengeance.

Aunt Abrar said, placing Samar's head on her lap and stroking her hair.

Samar replied, yawning: "But why, Aunt, do you always say these harsh words despite my young age? I don't like talking about subjects like murder and death. It depresses me."

Abrar replied with a slight smile: "Do you still think of yourself as small, silly? You're twenty years old."

Samar replied, smiling: "Yes, you still call me your little one."

Abrar said: "Yes, because I've raised you and cherished you since your tender childhood, like a mother would, and no matter how much you grow, you'll always remain my little one."

Samar asked: "Is it time for you to tell me about my mother, isn't it?"

Abrar replied: "What do you mean? What do you want to know about her?"

Samar asked: "Who is she? Why did she abandon me? Is she alive or dead? What relationship do you have, and why did she specifically choose you to take care of me?"

Abrar replied calmly: "Those are a lot of questions, Samar, and it's too late. It's time to sleep."

Samar insisted: "But Aunt..."

Abrar cut her off: "I won't repeat my words, go to sleep."

Samar, disappointed, said: "Alright, as you wish, Aunt, but before I go, may I ask one last question? Grant me this right, please."

Abrar replied: "Alright, but I also have the right not to answer."

Samar said: "Why do you stop me from calling you mom, at least? Every time I do, you go crazy and order me to call you aunt, even though you're the one who gave me maternal love, raised me, and cherished me."

Abrar replied: "A promise is like a key. Once given, it opens the door of trust. But if it's broken, that door closes, and the consequences can be difficult to overcome."

Samar asked, perplexed: "I don't understand, Aunt. Is this a riddle or an answer?"

Abrar, wiping away a tear that had escaped her, replied: "You will understand one day, Samar, you will understand. Now, good night."

Samra, kissing her aunt's head, said: "Good night, Mom... Uh, I mean good night, Aunt."

As soon as Samra left her aunt's house, Abrar went to the door and locked it, then sat in front of a medium-sized old silver box covered with a white sheet. As soon as she removed it, she opened the box, and dust began to disperse throughout the room. The box contained many clothes and other items, but her gaze was immediately drawn to a silver ring adorned with a stone, engraved with the name "Ajawid" on its sides. She picked it up and began to wipe away the accumulated dust on the stone while sobbing and repeating: "Have you seen what you've done to us, Ajawid?"