On A Quiet Street Novels & Stories

State your mission The house was quieter than Ares expected. He had stood outside for nearly a full minute, staring at the pale curtains drawn tight across the front windows, trying to gauge whether anyone was home. The street hummed with the lazy noise of late afternoon—children playing soccer barefoot on the asphalt, a woman balancing a basket of yams on her head as she passed, the distant blare of a car horn. But behind the walls of Tessa’s and Ayisha’s duplex, everything seemed still.

‎The first thing I noticed was the quiet. ‎ ‎Not the tense, brittle silence that had hovered over the penthouse for weeks. Not the kind that made my heart jump at every vibration of my phone. ‎ ‎This quiet was… ordinary. ‎ ‎The city hummed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. A distant car horn. The faint rush of early traffic far below. The soft mechanical whisper of the air conditioner cycling on. ‎ ‎Normal sounds. ‎ ‎I lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the anxiety to follow.

But I ran out of boxes, and I was glad I got to the supermarket before they closed. The street was so quiet on a Saturday night. Usually, those who hang out at the bar on the other side of the street pass by here and make noise. But then, maybe it was still too early, and they were not drunk yet. But then it was so eerily silent that I could hear the beating of my heart. All shops were closed, and the only light illuminating the sidewalk was from the only lamp post working on this street. I heard footsteps behind me, and I snapped my head back to see if there was anyone, but there was nothing. There was no movement at all.

i quickly I applied another back dye to it. As I drove through the streets of Altona, I couldn't help but notice the eerie silence that enveloped the entire town. The usually bustling streets were completely deserted, with not a single soul in sight. The once vibrant shops and restaurants were now closed, their windows shuttered and their doors locked. It was as if the entire town had been abandoned overnight. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I navigated my car through the empty streets. It was almost as if I had stumbled upon a ghost town. The silence was so deafening that I could hear the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my chest.

I'm suing you for trampling on my privacy! Her eyes were blazing, like she was clinging to the last lifeline she had. I gave her a cool, measured look, a slow smile playing on my lips. "Seriously, are you clueless, or have you been goofing off so much you can't even remember your own actions?"

“There’s a difference.” We took a different car this time. Longer. Quieter. It took us out of the city centre and into a part of the city that looked ordinary from the outside but had that specific quality of places where serious things happen quietly. No flashy buildings. No logos. Just a tall grey townhouse on a tree lined street with a black door and two men standing outside it who were not trying to look like security but very obviously were. One of them opened the door before we even reached the steps.

I simply stay. We leave at one in the morning. The northern quarter at one in the morning is as quiet as it ever gets, which is quieter than most parts of Silver Hollow because the density of the old stone buildings absorbs sound differently from concrete and glass. Our footsteps on the pavement are the loudest thing on the street. We walk in the same direction for three blocks before our routes would diverge and during those three blocks neither of us speaks and the silence is the same kind it was this afternoon, the kind that both people understand without needing to define.

He was just hard to understand and it would be frightening to find out who he actually is. I tossed the heavy silk duvet back restlessly and frustrated. The most eerie and annoying thing in this house was the silence. There was never any quiet in my small Queens apartment. The roar of the subway, the yelling of the neighbors and the hiss of the old radiator all blended together to form a never-ending orchestra of life. This was the heavy, old-fashioned and profound silence of a tomb. Needing a glass of water, a distraction or anything else to stop the yelling panicked monologue in my own head, I walked noiselessly out of my suite.

He settled back slightly in the seat and looked at the windscreen for a moment and then back at me. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" he said. "Or do you want to sit here for a bit first." "Sitting for a bit first," I said. "Okay," he said. We sat. It was the same quality of silence he had given me in the library, in the corridor after Zoey, on the walk to the park. He had a consistent relationship with silence that was not uncomfortable. The street was still quiet. The cat had moved from the wall and was now crossing the road in an unhurried way, completely indifferent to the fact that roads were for cars. The lamp on the corner hummed faintly. Somewhere further down the street a door

The orange hues of the setting sun cast a warm glow over the modest but neatly maintained apartment complex where Hema lived. Located a little away from the city’s bustling heart, the area was quiet and filled with the sounds of everyday life—a barking dog, children playing in the distance, and the occasional chime of a bicycle bell. It was the perfect haven for someone like Hema, who valued simplicity and peace.