I used to think silence was safe.
That if I stayed quiet, stayed invisible, the world would leave me alone. That I could slip through days like water slipping through fingers—unnoticed, untouched, unharmed.
But silence is a liar.
Because no matter how quiet I am, the world still finds ways to hurt me.
It was Friday.
One of those dull, half-rainy mornings where the clouds looked too tired to weep. I sat on the edge of my bed, fully dressed in uniform, but with no energy to move. My mother had already left for work. No goodbye. No note.
Just the sound of her heels fading down the hall.
I hadn't heard from the unknown number since that last message.
"Your silence is screaming. And I'm the only one who hears it."
It haunted me. Not because it scared me—because it felt true.
At school, Aariz still wasn't there.
That made it three days in a row.
I didn't know why it bothered me so much. We weren't friends. We barely knew each other. He was just a boy with a hoodie, a quiet stare, and a voice that dug beneath my skin.
But something about his absence made everything feel... heavier.
I sat alone at lunch, chewing the same sandwich I hadn't tasted all week. Maya waved at me across the courtyard, but I didn't go to her.
I couldn't pretend to be okay today.
I couldn't carry the lie anymore.
When I got home, the front door was unlocked.
Again.
It's such a simple thing, a door. But when you live with fear, every doorknob, every creak, every open room becomes a battlefield.
I stepped inside slowly.
"Mom?" I called.
No answer.
"Is anyone here?"
Nothing.
Still, I checked every room.
Old habit.
Ever since that day, I couldn't step into the house without checking first—like trauma was something hiding behind curtains.
When I confirmed I was alone, I locked my bedroom door, dragged the desk in front of it, and finally exhaled.
That evening, I stood in front of the mirror with my shirt lifted.
There was a bruise on my rib cage.
Faint. Yellowing. But there.
I hadn't noticed it before. I didn't remember falling. Didn't remember hitting anything.
But it was there.
Like a fingerprint from a nightmare.
Was it from when he grabbed my wrist too hard last week?
Or from the shove near the kitchen counter?
Maybe I'd forgotten the exact moment. But my body didn't.
I touched the bruise lightly and flinched.
It wasn't just skin that hurt. It was memory.
Later, as I lay in bed, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, the screen lit up.
Unknown Number.
"Check your window."
My heart dropped.
Hands trembling, I turned slowly toward the curtain. My window looked out onto the side street—quiet, usually empty, sometimes filled with stray cats.
Tonight, there was no one.
Just fog on the glass and a pale moon behind it.
I didn't move.
Another message.
"I saw the bruise. You didn't get it from falling."
Tears stung my eyes.
"Who are you?" I typed.
No reply.
I stared at the screen for a full five minutes.
And then...
"Someone who sees what others choose to ignore."
That night, I couldn't sleep again.
Instead, I pulled out the notebook Maya gave me and flipped to a fresh page.
"I don't want to be afraid in my own house."
"I don't want to live in skin that flinches."
"I don't want to need a stranger to feel seen."
I paused.
Then wrote one more line.
"But maybe that stranger understands me more than anyone else ever has."
The next morning, everything changed.
Aariz was back.
He stood at the school gate like nothing had happened. Hoodie on. Hands in pockets. Same unreadable face.
But when our eyes met, something flickered.
He walked up to me without a word and fell into step beside me. Like it was normal. Like we did this every day.
I didn't speak first.
He did.
"Sorry I disappeared."
I nodded, not looking at him. "You don't owe me anything."
"I wasn't avoiding you. Just... needed space."
Space. I understood that more than he knew.
We walked toward the main building in silence. Just steps. Just breathing.
Then he said, "You have a bruise."
I stopped walking.
Turned slowly.
His eyes were on my side—where the edge of my shirt had lifted when I bent to tie my shoe.
I pulled the fabric down, fast. "It's nothing."
He didn't believe me. I could tell.
"I'm fine," I said again, forcing the words through my teeth.
"You're not," he said softly. "But I'll wait until you want to say it."
Something cracked inside me at that. Not shattered. Just… cracked.
Because no one had ever said that before.
No one had ever given me permission to speak on my own terms.
During lunch, I found him behind the old gym.
This time, I sat beside him.
He looked at me but said nothing.
Good.
Because I didn't want to talk. I just wanted to sit next to someone who didn't ask me to smile when I didn't want to. Who didn't fill silence with empty words.
After a while, I spoke anyway.
"My dad's not a good man."
He looked up.
I didn't give details. Not yet. I wasn't ready.
But just saying it out loud felt like cutting a thread that had been wrapped around my throat for years.
Aariz didn't ask questions. He didn't offer pity.
He just nodded once and said, "Yeah. Mine wasn't either."
That night, the messages stopped.
For the first time in days, my phone stayed silent.
And yet, I didn't feel alone.
Not the way I used to.
Not entirely.
Because Aariz was back.
And for some strange reason, I felt like the universe had thrown us both into the same storm—and somehow, we were learning how to stand in the rain without drowning.