Her father once owned land that his father now farms. No one remembers the original argument, but everyone tends the grudge like an olive tree — watering it with silences at weddings and funerals.

Some stories are never finished. They simply become cassettes passed down in families, unlabeled, unwritten, but never forgotten. Play them when the world is too loud. Listen for what wasn’t said. End of Draft.

She rewinds. Plays it again. Her heart is a drum in a silent mosque.

They don’t show the escape. The tape cuts. Hisses. Then silence.