The Paper’s Whisper

Chapter One,

Nadim lay sprawled across her bed, the morning sun creeping timidly through the curtains and brushing against her tired eyes.
She tried to get up, but the warmth of her pillow was far kinder than the light calling her to start the day—until her mother’s familiar voice shattered the silence:

> “Still asleep? It’s almost noon! All the girls your age are married by now—what am I supposed to do with you?”



It was the same speech every morning, a tune Nadim knew by heart but no longer had the strength to answer.
She sighed and pulled the pillow over her head, trying to block out the entire world.
But the door flew open, and her mother stormed in like a sudden gust.

> “When was the last time you prayed? You’ve wasted your life on those silly novels! I swear, I don’t know what your father sees in this behavior.”



Nadim sat up, her patience gone.

> “Enough! What do you want from me? Marriage? I don’t want to get married!”



She stormed out, slamming the bathroom door behind her. Her mother stood frozen, muttering under her breath:

> “I failed as a mother…”



The rest of the day passed in heavy silence.
When her father and brother returned home, the family gathered for dinner. Her mother couldn’t resist complaining again, but her father simply said in his calm, distant tone:

> “Leave her be. You’re overreacting.”



Her mother fell quiet, only releasing a long sigh—half defeat, half sorrow.


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Chapter Two

The next morning, Nadim woke up early—unusual for her. She wanted to change something, even if small.
But time, as always, betrayed her. She was late again.
By the time she reached the university, the lecture had already begun.
She waved to her friend Salma and slipped into the seat beside her, fighting off sleep and boredom.

The class dragged on endlessly. When it finally ended, Nadim exhaled in relief.

> “I swear this lecture was torture. I didn’t understand a single thing.”



Salma laughed, then frowned as Nadim complained about being broke and unable to buy new books.

> “Why don’t you sell some of your old ones? Use the money to buy more.”



> “No way,” Nadim said instantly. “They’re all precious to me.”



> “Even the boring ones you never finished?” Salma teased.



Nadim hesitated, then sighed.

> “Maybe… but I hate the idea of letting them go.”



After some convincing, she finally agreed to sell a few.
Salma mentioned she knew a man who traded in used books, and they planned to meet him the next morning.

That night, Nadim sat surrounded by stacks of her books, staring at them as if choosing which of her children to give away.
Books were her world—her escape from the dullness of reality and her mother’s constant voice.
When fatigue finally claimed her, she sank into bed and drifted into a peaceful sleep.

her mother’s astonished gaze.
It wasn’t like her to leave this early.

On her way, she met Salma, who suggested they attend the lecture first before visiting the book seller.
Nadeem hesitated but agreed.
Two hours dragged by like an eternity.

When they finally left the university, they headed toward the man Salma had mentioned—only to find him sitting on the sidewalk beside a pile of secondhand books.
Nadeem stopped in disbelief and whispered, half amused, half disappointed:

> “This is your famous book dealer?”



Salma chuckled.

> “Don’t judge a book by its cover. Just see what he has.”



Reluctantly, Nadeem approached as Salma explained that they wanted to sell a few books and maybe buy some in return.
The man nodded. His face was unreadable, like an old novel with a missing title.

Nadeem crouched down, scanning the books spread across the pavement.
She felt a quiet sorrow seeing them treated this way—like forgotten souls stripped of their worth.
Several caught her eye, but she hid her excitement, careful not to let the seller notice.

Salma nudged her impatiently.

> “Hey, where are the books you’re selling?”



Nadeem pulled a few from her bag.
The man examined them briefly, then muttered a price so low it almost offended her.

> “That’s ridiculous,” she protested.



He shrugged.

> “A book’s value depends on its words, not its cover.”



Realizing she wouldn’t win, Nadeem gave in and began asking about the prices of other books.
That’s when she noticed it—an odd, ancient-looking book.
Its cover was a faded black, its title barely legible, the edges frayed like old skin.

> “What about that one?” she asked.



The man gave a faint smile.

> “That’s not for sale. I don’t even know how it ended up here.”



He picked it up and set it aside.
But Nadeem couldn’t look away; the book seemed to call to her—softly, insistently.

While paying for the books she’d chosen, her curiosity began to pulse louder than reason.
With quiet, almost guilty hands, she slipped the strange book into her bag when the seller wasn’t looking.

As she turned to leave, his voice followed her like a chill through the air:

> “Do you believe curiosity can kill?”



She froze.

> “I... I’m not sure. Maybe,” she stammered, and hurried off, heart racing, breath shallow.



Inside, a whisper echoed: I’ll return it... after I read it.

That night, behind her locked door, Nadeem pulled the book out and stared at it.
A soft, nervous laugh escaped her lips.

> “I actually stole a book... who even does that?”



But the man’s words haunted her, stirring an unease she couldn’t explain.
She pushed the thought aside. Sleep first—then she would read.

Her dreams were dark.
Shadows moved through them—shapeless, watching her.
She woke gasping for air, the clock glowing 1:00 AM.

A strange hunger gnawed at her.
She stumbled into the kitchen, ate whatever she could find without really tasting it, then returned to her room.

She sat on the bed, holding the book.

> “Now,” she whispered, “it’s time.”



As she opened it, a faint, ancient scent filled the air—dust, ink, and something darker.
The pages felt thick, almost like leather, and the handwriting was deep red, disturbingly close to the color of blood.

Her pulse quickened.
There was no denying it now—she had stolen a book of magic.

A thrill of reckless excitement sparked within her.
Every story she had ever read about hidden worlds and forbidden knowledge rushed back to her mind.

> “Why not?” she thought. “What harm could a little curiosity do?”



She flipped through the pages, reading about different tribes of spirits—some small and humanlike, others monstrous and strange.
At the end, she found a section describing how to summon one.

One illustration caught her eye—a short creature with long, ape-like arms.
Without thinking, she chose it.
The ritual seemed simple: a few candles, an offering, and the right words.

She smiled faintly, closing the book.

> “Tomorrow,” she murmured, “when I’m alone.”




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