My love is hidden in silence

This is a story worth every second of your time

A horse, bitten by a snake, collapsed in his stall, paralyzed and fading fast. A little hen found him there, his eyes rolling back, his body trembling.

She didn't hesitate. She ran to the forest, gathered medicinal herbs, and brewed a healing tonic. Small as she was, she struggled to drag a bowl of the remedy to the horse, panting, her feathers soaked with sweat and effort.

When the horse regained consciousness, he looked at her with cold, bitter eyes.

"Get out of here with your 'charity'!" he barked. "Leave me alone! I know how to take care of myself!"

With a violent kick, he flipped the bowl over. The scalding liquid splashed across the hen’s face.

She said nothing. She walked away with a forced smile, but once she was alone in the coop, she collapsed in tears. That night, through her sobs, she heard the horse moaning in a feverish delirium. Following her heart once more, she dragged her nest into the stable and slept by his side, watching over him all night.

At dawn, the horse woke up, still filled with rage.

"What are you doing here? I didn’t ask for your company! I don’t need anything from you! I hate you! Don’t you get it?"

And then, he struck her.

The hen was thrown across the room, bruised and bleeding. Again, she said nothing. She painfully dragged her nest back to the coop, limping and broken. There, she sank into an ocean of sadness.

The next day, with her spirit dimmed, she climbed the mountain to find the Old Sage.

"Master," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Will the horse ever understand how much I love him? Or will I die without him ever truly seeing me?"

The Sage looked at her for a long time and replied:

"He will understand... but only when the undertaker says: 'Five minutes before we close the casket.'"

Those words pierced the hen’s heart. She returned to the coop, but she wasn't the same. The insults, the screams, the contempt—something inside her had finally snapped. She stopped singing. She stopped eating. She slowly faded away, never returning to the stable.

A few days later, the horse noticed the silence. He missed her visits. Her care. The quiet shadow of her presence. A question began to haunt him: "Is it because of me?"

As remorse started to eat him alive, a hummingbird landed on the fence and delivered the devastating news:

"The hen is dead. They’re taking her to the cemetery now. Don’t you want to say goodbye?"

The horse froze. A dull, sharp pain tore through his chest. Every step toward the cemetery was marked by a tear, but the ones that burned the most were the tears of regret.

There she was. The one who had always been there. The one he had never known how to see. But this time, her wings were crossed over her chest, her eyes closed, motionless in the casket.

The undertaker announced: "Five minutes before we close the lid!"

Those words hit the horse like a sledgehammer. Five minutes... and it would be a final goodbye to her kindness. A final goodbye to his most faithful companion. He threw himself onto the casket, sobbing uncontrollably.

"She was so good," he cried out. "She was generous. She was my only real friend. She was always there for me... and I... I loved her! I’m going to miss her so much!"

Five minutes of words she had never heard while she was alive.

When the final second ticked by, the undertaker didn't close the lid. The horse blinked, startled. Suddenly, the hen sat up, a tender smile on her face, her feathers dusty but bright.

"I love you too, horse," she said softly. "And you are everything you just said you were."

The horse stared at her, wide-eyed, caught between rage and relief.

"What?! You aren’t dead?!"

"Of course not," she replied. "I just wanted five minutes of recognition."

The horse let out a loud snort, stomped his hoof, and roared:

"This is exactly why I hate you!"

But while his mouth said those words, his heart was screaming the opposite. And he hugged her—a hug so tight and desperate, like nothing before. Because finally, he understood what he had almost lost. And for the first time, he realized what he actually had.

The Moral

Don’t wait for the undertaker to say "five minutes left" to recognize someone’s value.

If you can say it today, say it. If you can show up today, show up. Speak your truth. Love loudly. And never take a loyal soul for granted.


Adapted from the story shared by our friend, Motorland via Facebook yesterday, Friday 24 April 2026.

Pictures are purely decorative and for illustration purpose only.

End©Permadu

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By Fauzi Kadir
Chief Editor

Assistant Editor
Jamaliah Mohd Salleh


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