The shadow lived in the corners of every room, silent but threatening. It wasn’t cast by light against walls but one created by systems, backgrounds, and quiet prejudices. It dwelled in the streets and homes, slipping under doors and into dismal days. For Aaliyah, the shadow became visible the day she stood in line at the supermarket, waiting to pay for a bag of chips. The cashier greeted the man in front of her warmly, his smile easy and familiar. But when her turn came, the smile turned to a rather disturbing grin. The cashier’s eyes ran over her neck, her skin, and her eyes. He threw the change on the counter rather than handing it to Leila. She held the bag tightly as she left, her footsteps quickening, the shadow heavy at her heels. It followed her home, where her mother was wiping floors in the living room, the smell of detergent in the room. Her mother gazed up and saw the look on Aaliyah’s face but stayed silent. She didn’t need to. They had both lived under the same shadow for years, though her mother had learned to persevere through it in silence. “Don’t let it bother you,” her mother said after a moment, scrubbing harder at a stain that refused to lift. Aaliyah did not bother to answer. The shadow did not feel like something to endure; instead, it was like something to run away from. She was right, though in their town it was more like what her mother recounted. But no matter how much she studied, no matter how many awards she won or achievements she earned, it always haunted her. In the school, where teachers disrespected her full name without even a single statement of remorse. Although the darkest shadow cast on her, she was not alone in the pursuit of endeavouring to deal with all the struggles that it constituted in her life. It went across the city, pooling in the places where the discriminated population lived. At the textile factory where Hossein toiled twelve hours a day, the shadow was the air itself thick with dust and exhaustion. Hossein had come to the city with dreams of a better life, but the shadow greeted him at the factory doors, binding his hands to the sewing machine and his future to the whims of those who profited from his labour. On his breaks, Hossein would sit by the window, staring out at the skyline of glass towers and billboards advertising a world he could never afford. "Exclusive Experience," one of them said, a smiling family posing beside a sleek car. He thought of his own family, miles away in a village shrinking under the weight of poverty, waiting for the money he sent home each month. The shadow reached them too, even from here. Even in the suburbs, where Aisha lived behind white picket fences and trimmed hedges, the shadow thrived. It was not threatening or aggressive here; it didn’t need to be. It whispered in the silence at dinner parties when someone said "Those neighbourhoods." It settled into the walls of exclusive schools where children like Aaliyah and Hossein were never seen. Aisha had noticed it once or twice when her coworker Esme was interrupted in meetings or when her friends laughed a little too loudly at jokes that should not have been funny. But she never said anything. She never responded. She never intended to stick up to the obscurity. The shadow had taught her to stay comfortable, to stay quiet.