Sitting on the cold park bench, her eyes still clouded with tears, Asha stared at the stranger who had just sat beside her. The man seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, like a shadow in the twilight, yet he exuded an unusual serenity. His wrinkled face and salt-and-pepper hair contrasted with his eyes, which sparkled with a youthful energy. A small, comforting smile played on his lips, as if he understood everything without her needing to say a word.

“I’m not looking to be saved,” she muttered, her voice still trembling from the fierce argument with Mahdi. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to a stranger.”

The old man tilted his head slightly. “Sometimes, speaking to a stranger is easier. They expect nothing from you. They don’t judge.” She turned her head towards him, quickly wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. With a vehement tone, she retorted, “You can’t understand. You know nothing about me.” The man seemed unfazed by her aggression. He simply shrugged.

“Maybe not. But I know suffering well. You can see it in the eyes of those who carry it. It’s like a burden that weighs down the shoulders and carves into the face. It can’t be hidden, it speaks too loudly without uttering a word. It disfigures, but is too perceptive for those who bear it to admit.”

Asha stared at him, surprised by the accuracy of his words. She lowered her eyes, looking at her trembling hands. “I’m not strong enough,” she whispered, almost on the verge of tears again. “I ruin everything. Always. It feels like I’m programmed for it.”

Silence fell, heavy and oppressive, until the man gently spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. “Strength isn’t measured by the absence of mistakes but by the ability to get back up after each fall, no matter how many times you fall.” Asha sighed, exasperated. “That sounds nice. Clichés. But reality is different. I can’t run from who I am, and I am… broken.”

The old man weighed each word as he spoke: “I’m not saying the road is easy. But running away has never healed anyone.” He locked eyes with Asha, his gaze like deep wells from which ancient wisdom flowed. “You think you’re broken, but the truth is, you’re protecting yourself from a pain you’ve never faced.”

A chill ran down her spine. His words resonated in a way she hadn’t expected, as if he were speaking directly to the part of her she had buried for so long. “You don’t know anything about me,” she repeated, but her voice lacked the conviction she intended.

The man had struck a chord, and she could feel her armor cracking. He let out a light laugh, free of mockery. “No, I don’t know everything. But I’ve watched you. And I see a woman at war with herself. A silent, exhausting war.” Asha lowered her head.

She thought of Mahdi, the argument, the words they had exchanged. He was right. She knew it. But he didn’t understand the depth of her inner emptiness, the dull ache that had followed her throughout her life. How could he? “He wanted to help me,” she murmured, almost to herself. “But I don’t even know what could help. I’m so tired of fighting.”

The old man remained silent for a moment, giving her the space to voice her pain. Then, gently, he asked, “What if it’s not about fighting? Maybe instead of struggling against the pain, you need to accept it, acknowledge it. That emptiness you feel… maybe it can only be filled with your own love.”

Asha frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, you’re searching for answers outside of yourself. In relationships, maybe in work… perhaps even in alcohol. But the answers you seek are within you. You need to learn to be alone with that pain without running from it. Maybe then, the pain will flee from you. Who knows?” he replied.

She didn’t speak immediately. The idea of facing her demons alone terrified her more than anything. But part of her understood that the man might be right. She had always sought escape routes, refusing to confront the wound head-on. That was why she had no friends and preferred to operate alone.

She dreaded letting others into her world. They would have seen beyond her radiant laughter. They would have seen what was hidden behind the always well-dressed, kind woman who seemed so clever and had wise advice for everyone else. They would have discovered her insecurities.

The silence stretched between them. The old man didn’t seem in a hurry to leave, as if he patiently awaited her to come to terms with her own thoughts. Finally, Asha broke the silence. “And how do you do that?” she asked.

The old man replied, “It’s not easy. It takes time, patience. But there are people who can walk with you on that path. You don’t have to do it alone.”

Asha raised an eyebrow, skepticism in her gaze. “People… like you? “Yes”. I can help, guide you if you’re willing. My name is Cheikh. We can drop the formalities now,” he said. “Cheikh?” she repeated, surprised by the name, which felt oddly familiar. There was something comforting about him, like a figure from another time. “Yes. I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I can walk this road with you, if you’re ready to take the first step.”

Asha squinted at him. She had always been wary, especially of people who seemed too eager to help. But there was something in this man’s presence, in the way he spoke, that awakened a part of her she thought long dead. A small spark of hope. Maybe she was tired of running. Maybe she wanted to believe, even for a moment, that things could change.

She sighed deeply before murmuring, “I don’t know if I’m ready. For anything.”

He responded, “No one ever really is. What matters is not closing the door before you’ve tried.”

They remained there, sitting in silence under the stars, with the distant sounds of the city and the other park-goers like a barely perceptible hum in the background…

This text is an excerpt from the book “THE CALL OF DAWN“ written by Winnie KITIO.

We invite you to read the next article: “THE POISONED ESCAPE.”

AT THE GATES OF AWAKENING. AT THE GATES OF AWAKENING.

AT THE GATES OF AWAKENING. AT THE GATES OF AWAKENING.