Note: I’ve written the first part of this story and chosen to publish it in two forms — as prose and as a graphic novel — in the hope of appealing to both the contemplative reader and the visual imagination alike.
Sami and Sarah had been married for over ten years. Their life wasn’t perfect, but it was steady and familiar. They shared the usual rhythms of daily life—bills, groceries, brief conversations, and silent dinners. Sami worked at a prestigious financial consultancy, leaving home early and returning late, worn out from meetings and reports. Yet, he never let a day pass without a message or a quick call at midday, even if just for two minutes.
Sarah had grown used to this pattern. She wasn't demanding and understood well the nature of his work. Still, for her, his return each evening marked the true end of the day, and his morning routine was the quiet beginning of another.
At precisely 7:30 a.m., Sami left the house. The scent of his coffee still lingered in the air, and steam from his metal cup faded behind him as his footsteps receded. He kissed Sarah on the forehead—a quick, habitual gesture—and stepped out. She closed the door, and the house fell back into its usual silence. Nothing seemed unusual... at first.
By noon, worry began to creep in. The usual message hadn’t arrived, nor had the sarcastic meme he liked to send between meetings. Her messages to him went unread; the two grey checkmarks on her screen stared back like a quiet warning.
She called once. Twice. Then again. The phone rang, then went straight to voicemail. This isn’t like Sami, she thought. But the voice of reason whispered: Maybe his phone battery died.
By 3:00 p.m., she could no longer wait. She called his colleague and close friend, George.
"Sarah?" His voice was uneasy. "I was just about to call you. Sami didn’t show up today."
A pause.
"He had an important meeting this morning. We tried calling him—so did management. No one has heard anything."
"But he left here like usual..." Sarah said, stunned.
"I know. It’s strange. Try not to assume the worst. Maybe something urgent came up. But if he’s not back by evening, you should call the police."
Evening crept in like a weight pressing down on her chest. She moved from room to room, gripping her phone like a lifeline. She kept glancing out the window, imagining his silver car pulling up, picturing him opening the door with a smile saying it was all just a mix-up.
But by 9:00 p.m., nothing had happened.
Her hands trembling, she called the police. Her voice wavered between hope and fear as she gave the officer Sami’s description, his car, the route he usually took, and the dark blue work jacket he wore that morning. The officer promised to begin the search immediately and to contact her if there were any updates.
That night, sleep never came. She sat on the couch, eyes fixed on the door, as if staring long enough might summon him home.
At exactly 8:30 the next morning, the phone rang.
“Ma’am, this is the traffic division. We’ve located your husband’s car.”
Her heart stuttered. “Where? Is he... is he okay?”
“The vehicle was found in a remote area, roughly fifty kilometers off his usual route to work. The driver’s door was open, and all his belongings—his phone, wallet, and keys—were inside. But your husband... wasn’t there.”
The words were clear, but they didn’t register. They hung in the air—suspended between disbelief and dread.
He hadn’t been found. No one had seen him. No one had called. He had simply... vanished.
She stood at the window, staring out at the city stretching before her, as if it might hold a shadow, a trace, an explanation for the void that had opened without warning.
Somewhere, far beyond everything she knew, Sami had stepped into a silence that had no name.
To be continued…
