short fiction · 2026-10-15

The Silent Supper

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the dim glow of amber lanterns, three strangers shared a table that held no food, only stories. The youngest spoke of a river that never reaches the sea, the middle of them recalled a map drawn in sand, and the eldest whispered a name that had been forgotten by everyone but themselves. Each word was a thread, pulling at the fabric of what they believed to be true. When the last sentence fell, the silence stretched, not as emptiness, but as a soft chord resonating with the unseen harmonies of generosity—giving without expecting a return, yet leaving a lingering echo that tasted of sunrise and distant horizons.