The Silence That Filled a Heart
Compiled by Amirah Ahamed
One chilling yet calm night, a droplet of light fell from the sky, not a meteor, nor a blaze, but a young star, bright and fresh. It landed behind an old observatory, the earth welcoming it as if greeting an old friend. The star nestled into the earth’s warmth like pulling a blanket over itself. And there it remained days, weeks, months… until one night.
The moon shone brightly, smiling softly at the sleeping humans, some asleep in body, others in spirit. In the hush of that night, a wisp of a girl crept behind the forgotten observatory, searching for the glowing light she had once dreamt of. She tiptoed around, and there, among whispering leaves, she saw it: a bloom. Petals of pearly white, silver-tipped. Its stem shimmered like it was spun from moonbeams and morning dew, trembling gently as if aware it had been found.
The girl knelt beside it, eyes wide with awe. Her voice came soft, like a lullaby.
“Hello. My name is Yara.” She smiled. “I don’t know your name, but I’ll name you. You’ll be... Star flower. Because you look like you were born from a star.”
And the flower glowed a little brighter accepting its name, and its future.
Night after night, Yara returned, speaking softly about her day, her dreams, her loneliness. The flower listened in silence, yet always glowed.
On the eve of her sixteenth birthday, she whispered again beneath the stars.
“You never grow, Star flower. And yet, you shine brighter each year.”
She sighed, tracing constellations with her eyes.
“I was a child when I first found you. My father worked here…”
She looked up at the observatory, its charred remains still standing.
“It caught fire. He… he died in it.” Her voice cracked.
“I hated this place. But you made me come back. You gave it meaning again.”
She paused.
“This week is important in my religion. God says there’s a night here, hidden, where blessings overflow. I pray every year… Last year, I asked for a phone.” She laughed softly. “This year, I just want something to hold in my heart. Something that stays.”
She poured her soul out, her hopes, regrets, fears. And the flower glowed gently, silently yearning for her happiness.
The seasons passed. Yara grew. But Star flower stayed, a quiet witness to her changing world.
Then one sunset-streaked evening, she ran back, seventeen now, taller, breathless.
“They’re going to demolish this land, for a gas station!” she gasped.
“You’ll be destroyed...”
She knelt, weeping.
“Oh Star flower... you were born when I lost my father. You were my light. How will I live without you?”
The flower’s glow dimmed, not extinguished, mourning in silence.
“I know you’re just a flower,” she whispered. “But your silence filled my heart.”
A week later, she returned. The observatory was rubble. Concrete and fumes covered the ground. But where the flower once stood… a seed remained. Glowing faintly beneath dust and ash.
She lifted it gently. It was warm, welcoming.
Without hesitation, she carried it deep into a sacred forest, untouched, revered. Beneath a canopy of whispering leaves and soft golden rain, she planted it.
Time moved on. So did she.
Years later, now an adult, Yara returned. Her steps slowed as she reached the grove. And there, in the place where she had planted it, stood a glowing flower, taller, changed, but unmistakably kindred.
Beside it sat a young boy, speaking to the petals with earnest joy.
She watched silently before stepping closer.
“What are you doing, little one?”
He turned, eyes bright. “I’m talking to my Asteranthos.”
Her heart skipped.
“What does Asteranthos mean?”
He turned to the flower.
“It means ‘the flower of the stars’ in my language.”
She smiled. A star by any name still glowed the same.
“That’s beautiful. Take care of Asteranthos for me. For us.”
She didn’t step any closer. Her eyes lingered one last time. Then she turned away, walking out of the forest, leaving the Star flower’s silence to fill another heart.
Or rather, Asteranthos.
