(Sudden Plot)
It had been a long, cold winter night in the small town of Anwar, where the flickering lights of the mosque cast long shadows on the narrow alleyways. Layla, a girl of ten, sat cross-legged in the corner, her eyes glued to the floor as the old imam spoke in a deep, calming voice. She tried to focus on his words, but the man’s presence, looming too close for comfort, made her stomach twist in knots.

She had always been an outsider—isolated in the classroom, in the playground, and in her own home. The pain of loneliness was something she had become accustomed to, a silent companion that no one ever noticed. Her mother, distant and cold, hardly spoke to her. The absence of affection had long been a part of her life, like a thick fog she couldn’t escape. Her father was always too busy with work, too preoccupied to notice the growing emptiness in his daughter’s eyes.

But there was one place where she could go, one place where the silence felt less suffocating—the mosque. It had always been a sanctuary, a place where Layla could escape the coldness of her home. Yet, it became a place of horror when the imam, her teacher at the mosque, took advantage of his position.

He wasn’t like the other teachers—he was older, more imposing. And one fateful day, during a Quran lesson, his hand had wandered too far. His touch was like fire on her skin. He told her to keep it a secret, to be silent, and for years, that silence consumed her, like a slow poison seeping through her veins. When she finally told her parents, they dismissed her, as if her pain was inconsequential. Her mother simply shrugged, her cold, indifferent eyes telling Layla all she needed to know: no one cared.

Her father? He was too lost in his world to see his daughter's distress. They both turned away, as though it was a problem they could ignore. Alone, frightened, and broken, Layla retreated into herself, hiding the scars...