Issahil

“I can't believe he is dead…” 

Carlos’ grief-stricken voice sliced through the serenity that had been ensuing between us. He ended his words with a sniff and I reached out to pat his back, tears also glistening in my eyes.

It was the early hours of the morning. The occasional sound of crickets and birds chirping accompanied the soft rustling of leaves and twigs as the cool breeze surrounding us blew over them.

The sun, a golden orb, was slowly beginning to peek from beyond the horizon, casting hues of pale orange on the sky, which was a cloudless blue.

“I am so sorry about your nephew, Carlos.”

Carlos...