Tale#22: Bedtime Tales: Episode10:The Shadow That Followed| Tuesday
What we do leaves deeper marks than what we say
It was late afternoon, and golden sunlight stretched lazily across the living room floor.
Dust particles floated gently in the light, like tiny dancers in a quiet performance no one was watching.
Sara and Zayn sat on opposite ends of the couch, arms crossed, each with a frown curling at the edges of their lips.
The board game between them lay forgotten on the coffee table — its tiny plastic pieces scattered like remnants of a battle.
They had argued — about who broke the rules or who moved the wrong piece.
It didn’t matter now.
The silence between them was louder than their fight.
Neither wanted to speak first.
Aymen, their mother, sat nearby with her hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea.
She didn’t scold.
She didn’t ask what happened.
Instead, she simply observed — the way mothers do — with eyes that saw deeper than the surface.
Then, after a quiet sip, she set her cup down, leaned back into the couch cushions, and spoke in that soft way that made both children perk up — even if they pretended not to.
“You know,” she began thoughtfully, “I once knew a boy who had a very strange shadow.”
Sara glanced sideways, still clutching the nose cone of her half-built LEGO spaceship.
Zayn tried to keep his eyes on the rug, but his curiosity betrayed him.
“A shadow?”
Aymen nodded, with a small, knowing smile.
“Mm-hmm. His name was Idris.”
She leaned forward just a little, and her voice dropped into that gentle, storytelling tone both kids recognized.
“Idris lived in a small hill town — the kind where the clouds dipped so low they tickled the rooftops, and the trees seemed to whisper secrets when no one else was around.
He was known for his good manners.
Always said ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’
Never interrupted.
Greeted everyone with a smile.
To anyone watching, Idris was the perfect boy.”
“But when Idris turned ten,” she continued, “something... odd began to happen.”
“One chilly afternoon, as he was walking home from school, he looked down and noticed his shadow wasn’t quite right.
It wasn’t beside him like usual — it lagged behind.
Dragging, as if it was tired. Or sad.”
Sara’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s weird.”
“He thought so too,” Aymen agreed.
“He blamed the angle of the sun at first.
But over the next few days, it got stranger.”
“When Idris sat down to pray, his shadow slouched.
When he helped his mom carry groceries, his shadow huffed… and rolled its eyes.
When he laughed with his friends, his shadow turned its back — arms crossed.”
Zayn’s mouth opened slightly.
“Was it… alive?”
“Not alive like you and me,” Aymen said.
“But alive enough to tell the truth.”
One night, Idris stood in his room, staring at the wall where his shadow stretched.
The moonlight made it sharp and dark.
He whispered, “Why are you doing this? You’re my shadow. You’re supposed to copy me.”
To his shock, the shadow slowly turned its head toward him.
Its voice was low, but steady.
“I don’t follow what you say. I follow what you really do.”
Idris blinked.
“But I’m polite! I say good things!”
The shadow nodded.
“You say what sounds right.
But your heart complains when your mom asks you for help.
You say sorry — but only so you don’t get in trouble.
You smile at people — but think mean things when they leave.
I don’t follow your words.
I follow your truth.”
Zayn gave a small shiver and hugged a pillow to his chest.
Aymen continued,
“From that night, Idris started to change.
Not because anyone told him to...
But because he wanted his shadow — the honest version of himself — to stand tall again.”
“He stopped pretending.
When he apologized, he really meant it.
When he helped his mom, he didn’t sigh or expect praise.
And even when no one was around, he tried to be kind.”
Sara’s fingers stopped fiddling with her LEGO.
“Did his shadow change too?”
Aymen smiled.
“It did. A few weeks later, Idris was walking home when he looked down.
His shadow was beside him again — not behind, not ahead.
Just… walking with him.
Calm. Aligned. Peaceful.”
The room fell quiet.
Even the clock on the wall seemed to tick more gently.
Zayn whispered,
“That’s kind of scary… but also cool.”
Sara rested her chin on her knees.
“So… our shadow shows who we really are?”
Aymen nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Your shadow — and your conscience — always know.
People may forget what you say…
But they remember how you made them feel, and what you did.”
For a long moment, no one spoke.
The air in the room had shifted.
The golden sunlight now stretched further, casting soft shadows on the floor.
Then Zayn cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry I shouted earlier. I got mad over nothing.”
Sara looked at him. Her lips pressed together.
Then she held out her pinky.
“Truce?”
Zayn wrapped his pinky around hers without hesitation.
Aymen didn’t say a word.
She just looked at them — her heart quietly full.
Outside, the sun dipped lower behind the trees,
and the shadows in the room grew longer…
but somehow,
they all felt lighter.