It was a cool morning when I walked into the deserted village in Morocco. The sun had just risen and the sand under my feet felt cold. I had heard of this village and decided to visit it on my trip, but I did not expect it to be so deserted.

As I walked through the quiet streets, I wondered what had happened to the residents. Where had they gone? Why had they left the village?

Suddenly, I heard a soft rustling behind me. I turned around and saw a boy of about 10 years old emerge from one of the abandoned houses. He just stood there, looking at me with big eyes.

We stood silently facing each other for minutes, no one saying anything. Finally, I decided to take the initiative and asked him what he was doing here.

At that moment, I noticed the sky darkening and I heard the rumble of thunder in the background. I looked up and saw a sandstorm rising. I shouted to the little boy that we should hurry to look for a safe haven.

We ran through the quiet streets, the wind chasing us as the sandstorm raged on. Finally, we reached an old, dilapidated building and ducked inside, just in time to escape the storm.

There we sat, two strangers, together in the dark while the storm raged outside. But in that silence, we found a strange closeness, connected by our presence in this abandoned village and by our curiosity about what else life had to offer us. And when the storm passed and we stepped outside again, I felt connected to this village in a way I had never experienced before.