What it is to be Silent

By Izza Khan

In the heartrending yet uplifting tale "What it is to be silent," we delve into the life of Hope, a young woman grappling with the profound loss of her mother. Her life, shadowed by grief and an insurmountable guilt, carries an unbearable lightness-a secret that, if exposed, could unravel the very fabric

• Language: English
• Publisher: Woodbridge Publishers
• Release date: Mar 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9781917184175

Book preview

WHAT IT IS TO BE SILENT

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Woodbridge Publishers

1200 Century Way, Thorpe Park,

Leeds, LS158ZA

Copyright © 2024 Izza Khan

All rights reserved

First Edition

ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-917184-08-3

ISBN (Hardback): 978-1-917184-09-0

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s own imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locations or events is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

To all those who drown their voices by silence every day…

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Writing a book is probably the hardest challenge I’ve ever faced. And I’m extremely delighted that I have finished my second book. When I was 15, I published my debut novella and if you ask me now, I will definitely say I have come a long way since then. I have improved in ways I thought weren’t possible not just as a writer but as a reader and a person which has 100% played a huge role in writing this book. As a 16-year-old, I wanted to give writing another chance and that’s when my journey began writing this book. There were many hurdles along the way including the first 10 chapters of this book being deleted, studying for A-Levels and my mental health. Regardless, I didn’t give up on Hope’s story. And now here I am as a 20-year-old publishing it. My biggest message from this book is to spread awareness about domestic abuse, mental health and that sometimes speaking up is better than remaining silent. 

There are many people who have helped me with this book, and I would like to acknowledge them. 

My mum – Thank you for pushing me to face my fears, to follow my dreams, to achieve my goals and supporting me through everything. Without you, I would’ve never challenged myself to write a book, so thank you. I love you. 

My best friends – Thank you for always hearing me talk about my book, my story ideas and for supporting me throughout this journey of writing and publishing. 

Maariya – Thank you for creating the stunning book cover and bringing my ideas and vision to life. 

My editors at Woodbridge – Thank you for being patient with me, going through all my grammatical mistakes, and fixing my errors. 

Daniel – Thank you for being the best project manager, for handling my work, emails, and constant messages with utmost patience. 

My ARC Readers – Thank you for giving my book a chance and agreeing to read and review it. I wouldn’t be able to bring it to other people without you all. 

Fizza – Thank you so much for hearing me talk about my book every day, for being there when I almost gave up, for rereading every sentence and giving me suggestions to improve. I think without you this book wouldn’t be what it is today. Thank you for being the best sister. 

My Readers – Thank you to whoever reads this and gives my book a chance. I hope you enjoy and stay tuned for more in this series. 

PLAYLIST

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Silence – Khalid

Sucker – Jonas Brothers

Perfect – Ed Sheeran

Moral of the Story – Ashe

Say you won’t let go – James Arthur

Before you go – Lewis Capaldi

Lovely – Billie Eilish & Khalid

If the world was ending – JP Saxe & Julia Michaels

Love Lies – Normani & Khalid

Hate Me – Ellie Goulding

Heather – Conan Grey

I’m so tired – Lauv & Troye Sivan

Little do you know – Alex & Sierra

Without me – Halsey

Happier than ever – Billie Eilish

Obsessed – Mariah Carey

Feel like shit – Tate McRae

TRIGGER WARNINGS

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Before reading, please make sure the topics below won’t affect you in any way.

Alcoholism

Addiction

Death of Parents

Emotional abuse

Abandonment

Panic Attacks

Violence

Domestic Abuse

Table of Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PLAYLIST

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

EPILOGUE

It’s hard to forget someone who gave you so much to remember. – Ahmad Ahmad

CHAPTER 1

HOPE

The pages were bleeding in front of my eyes as I stood there in remembrance of her. Every detail about her was etched in the deepest parts of my mind and heart.

"Dear Hope,

I know there will be a day when you will want to know the truth of our lives, so here’s a diary that will tell you everything. Before you and after you.…."

I closed the diary with a snap, painful memories plastered on the insides of my eyelids. It had been years since, but the wounds felt fresher with time. Eternally on a carousel ride of excruciating thoughts that I couldn’t do much about, but I could shut the diary. Strangely enough, it relieved me.

This was momma’s personal diary. It was evident by the delicate and fragile waves of the writing. Through each word that was scribbled on that page, there was a particular hopelessness. I found it on the living room floor, hidden under the towering empty beer cans dad had left after last night. It seemed like he had kept this hidden, away from my reach. He didn’t want me to find it, but his drunkenness had taken advantage of him, leading me right to the diary. The beer stains on a few pages hinted he had been reading it. He was never interested in momma’s life. Besides, he shouldn’t be reading it – it was intended for me to read.

Climbing up the stairs, physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted, I took the diary back to my bedroom.  I had tried to read it, but her words alone were enough to send me spiralling into a panic attack. My shallow breaths let me know that it was time I stopped. I carried the deepest part of my momma the way someone would carry a newborn infant. If I didn’t hold it tight enough, I felt I would lose this last part of momma, too. Under no circumstance did I want that. I took the diary and hid it right at the back of the bookshelf, behind all those stories momma and I had shared when I was a little girl. It was part of my vivid memory. I was afraid all her treasured memories buried in my mind would slowly fade away.  This was the only thing he knew he couldn’t snatch away from me.

I walked towards the mirror on the wall. Staring at my reflection was as if I was staring at momma. It was comforting enough to allow me to turn away from the panic attack. I started to picture momma in my head, her deep blue eyes, wavy brunette hair, and her delicate facial features. Her appearance displayed how she was as a person: calm, kind, and caring. This was the thing that led her to her ill fate.

Dad was quite the opposite: his eyes were dark and cold, like the darkest night in winter, dark hair and facial features stone-like. His appearance presented how he was as a person – dark, dull, and despairing. And the question remained – who was I? I was a pale reflection of momma. Just as silent as her. A muted version of her.

Momma’s death was the most tragic event of my life. The only feeling to describe it was as if someone had snatched my soul out of me. If only I had done something, but I let that moment pass by without an utter, not even a whisper. Since then, regret was my biggest enemy, creeping on to me at times I didn’t even notice. Even if I wanted to escape, there was no exit door. I was surrounded by walls of promise, hope and silence.

I continued to sit there, staring up at the ceiling and heard my phone ring.

Hello? I picked up without looking at who it was.

Hey, it’s me! it was Harper, my best friend. We had been friends since before we could even talk. She was momma’s best friend, aunty Audrey’s daughter.

Yep. What’s up?

Come over. Heather’s here too. We’re waiting.

Alright, I’ll be there in 20. See ya. I ended the call and forced myself to get out of my misery.

Heather was momma’s other best friend, aunty Ally’s daughter. She was part of our trio. Harper, Heather, and I were attached by the hip, people always said we were inseparable, and that fact hadn’t changed till present day.

I made my way to the closet to get a pair of converses out and pulled out my favourite pair, the plain old classics – black and white. I walked back to the bed and sat down, untying the individual laces for my feet to slip right into the shoes. Grabbing my backpack, car keys and phone charger, I was out the door.

With the part-time job, I could only