Morning came again.
But this time…
it felt heavier.
As if the air itself
was holding something back.
Jory woke up slowly,
her eyes searching before her mind could think.
She looked to her side.
The space was still empty.
Untouched.
Cold.
For a moment,
she stayed still.
As if not moving
could change something.
As if waiting
could bring him back.
"Baba…"
The word slipped from her lips
without sound.
She sat up quietly.
Her mother was already awake.
Sitting in the corner of the tent.
Holding her sister.
Rocking her gently.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
But there was no song.
No whisper.
Just movement.
Endless movement.
Jory watched her.
Something felt different.
Not just sadness.
Something deeper.
Something heavier.
"Where is Baba?" she asked again.
Her voice was soft.
Careful.
As if louder words
might break something.
Her mother stopped moving.
Just for a second.
Then she continued.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
"He will come," she said.
But her voice…
didn't believe it.
Jory didn't answer.
She just nodded.
Because children sometimes understand
what adults try to hide.
She stepped outside the tent.
The morning was gray.
Dust still hung in the air.
People moved slowly.
Some carried things.
Some carried nothing.
Some just stood still.
Looking at places
that were no longer there.
Jory walked.
Without direction.
Without a plan.
Her feet moved on their own.
She passed other tents.
Other families.
Other stories.
All quiet.
All heavy.
She saw a group of people gathered.
Standing close.
Too close.
No one spoke loudly.
But something about the silence…
was different.
Jory slowed down.
Her heart began to beat faster.
Not from running.
From knowing.
She didn't know what.
But something inside her
was telling her to stop.
To turn back.
But she didn't.
She kept walking.
Step by step.
Until she reached them.
She couldn't see clearly.
Only shoulders.
Only backs.
Only stillness.
She stood on her toes.
Tried to look.
Someone moved slightly.
Just enough.
And for a second…
Jory saw.
Not everything.
Not clearly.
But enough.
A shape.
Covered.
Still.
Too still.
Her breath caught.
Her body froze.
She didn't scream.
She didn't cry.
She just stood there.
Looking.
Not understanding…
but feeling.
Deep inside.
Something cold.
Something sharp.
Something final.
A hand gently touched her shoulder.
She turned.
An older woman.
Kind eyes.
Sad eyes.
"Go back, little one," she whispered.
Jory didn't move.
Her eyes stayed where they were.
On that still shape.
Covered.
Silent.
The woman knelt in front of her.
Held her face gently.
"You shouldn't see this."
Jory blinked.
Slowly.
As if waking up.
But she wasn't.
She looked again.
One last time.
Then she turned.
And walked away.
Step by step.
Her chest felt tight.
Her head felt light.
The world around her…
felt far away.
When she reached the tent,
her mother looked at her.
Their eyes met.
And in that moment…
no words were needed.
Jory understood.
Not everything.
Not fully.
But enough.
Her father…
was not coming back.
She didn't cry.
Not yet.
She just sat down quietly.
Took her notebook.
Opened it.
Her hands trembled.
Just a little.
She picked up a crayon.
The blue one.
She stared at the page.
A long time.
Then slowly…
she began to draw.
Not the sky.
Not the sun.
Not the way things used to be.
This time…
she drew silence.