The road began where the last tree ended. Beyond that, the world stretched wide and open — a long, pale strip of dust winding through the emptiness. The sun had already begun its descent, a molten sphere slipping into the horizon, painting the land in fading gold. The air shimmered faintly, heavy with heat that rose from the ground like invisible smoke.
Every step stirred a small cloud of dust that hung in the air before settling again. The scent of baked earth filled the lungs — dry, mineral, and oddly clean. In the distance, the land trembled with mirages, pools of shifting light that vanished the moment one blinked. The silence was complete, not empty but full — full of waiting, full of breath, full of the slow turning of day into night.
The last light touched everything gently. The sand, once dull, now glowed in shades of amber and rust. Small thorn bushes cast long, spidery shadows that stretched across the road like threads. The only sound was the soft crunch of my shoes and the occasional rustle of wind moving through brittle grass.
Somewhere far off, a lone bird cried — a brief, echoing note that rose into the vastness and disappeared. It left behind a silence even deeper than before.
The desert, in this hour, felt alive in its stillness. The sky darkened by degrees — blue deepening into indigo, then violet. The horizon burned faintly orange for a few moments longer, before surrendering to dusk. One by one, the stars began to appear, sharp and cold, scattered across the growing dark.
The air cooled quickly. The scent changed too — dry dust giving way to something faintly metallic, almost like stone breathing after heat. I pulled my scarf closer around my neck, feeling the warmth of fabric against the cool wind.
Ahead, the road dipped gently between low ridges of sand. I followed its curve, guided more by the faint light than by sight. The moon hadn't yet risen, but the stars were bright enough to show the edges of the world. The sky looked enormous — endless, almost close enough to touch.
Somewhere to the left, a small cluster of lights blinked faintly — maybe a village, maybe only lanterns from a passing caravan. The sight was distant, unreal, as though floating between earth and sky.
I stopped beside a flat rock and sat down, dust rising softly beneath me. The stone was still warm from the day's sun. I pressed my palm against it, feeling the stored heat seep slowly into my skin. The road stretched both ways — behind me, toward the hills I'd come from; ahead, into darkness and uncertainty. For a long time, I watched nothing and everything.
A faint breeze picked up, carrying with it the smell of faraway fires — faint smoke, maybe from cooking, maybe from some unseen camp. The air was cool on my face, dry on the lips, filled with the taste of salt and dust. I could hear, faintly, the hum of insects hidden somewhere in the dark.
Then the moon rose — a slow silver edge lifting above the horizon, transforming the desert in an instant. The sand gleamed softly, each grain catching the light, turning the ground into a sea of pale silver. Shadows shortened, edges sharpened, and the road itself glowed faintly, as though lit from within.
I began walking again. My shadow stretched long before me, moving silently across the pale earth. The sound of my steps had changed — softer now, absorbed by the sand.
The landscape shifted subtly in the moonlight. Dunes looked like frozen waves; dry bushes like black ink strokes on parchment. The air had grown completely still, the kind of stillness that makes every movement feel sacred. Even the stars seemed to pulse with quiet rhythm.
In the distance, I saw what looked like a small shrine — a square of stone half-buried in sand, its roof open to the sky. A single lamp burned inside, a faint orange glow trembling in the windless night. I approached slowly, my steps muffled, feeling as though I were walking into a dream.
The lamp sat in a shallow alcove, its flame flickering weakly but steady. Around it, the sand was smooth, untouched. I could see faint marks on the stone — not words, just the gentle wear of years. Someone had been here once. Someone still might return.
I stood there a long while, listening to the flame's soft crackle. It gave no heat, but it felt alive, fragile and stubborn — a small defiance against the vastness. I bowed my head slightly before moving on, not out of reverence, but in quiet respect.
The desert widened again as I left the shrine behind. The moon climbed higher, whitening the world. The air tasted faintly sweet now, cooled by night. Each breath felt clean, unburdened.
A wind rose suddenly — not harsh, but strong enough to carry the scent of distant rain. It moved across the dunes like a sigh, shifting the sand in slow waves. My footprints blurred and vanished almost instantly. The world, it seemed, erased even the memory of my passage.
For a moment, that thought felt comforting. That here, beneath this vast, unending sky, one could simply be — without name, without purpose, without story. Just a traveler between dusk and dawn.
The road ahead shimmered faintly in the moonlight, a pale ribbon twisting into the horizon. I followed it until the hills were only shadows and the stars above grew brighter still. The night deepened, wrapping everything in quiet silver.
And somewhere far away, beyond sight, I imagined the sound of another lamp being lit — a tiny flame holding its place in the great stillness, whispering softly beneath the desert sky.