FALLEN ROSE

The rose didn't fall on its own.

Someone cut it down. Someone stood there and watched its color bleed across the marble floor of a house filled with perfume, prayers, and secrets.

Tonight, the garden gates are locked, the phone is dead, and the only thing left in her trembling hands is a single petal crushed, stained, and still warm.

Laayan once believed silence was strength. She thought that if she stayed quiet long enough, if she bent low enough, the storm would pass without tearing out her roots. She was wrong.
Silence didn't protect her. It only made them forget she was still alive.

This is how a rose falls.
Not with a scream, but with a whisper no one cared enough to hear.