I used to think silence was safety.
That if I kept my head down and my voice small, no one could touch me.
No one could twist my words, or turn my softness into something to step on.
I was wrong.
Silence doesn't protect you.
It just makes it easier for people to forget you're human.
This morning, I can feel the shift the moment I walk in.
The whispers don't get louder. They just get smarter.
Lower.
Smoothed over with polite laughter and tilted heads.
And Kaori?
She doesn't even need to say anything today.
Her glance is enough.
A slow, amused scan from my shoes to my eyes.
Like she's measuring how much space I think I deserve
And waiting for me to shrink again.
I sit down in class and pretend to look busy.
Souta's already at his desk. He doesn't look up, but I feel him watching me anyway.
I think we both pretend better than we should.
By lunch, the cafeteria feels sharper.
Too bright.
Too many moving parts.
I almost turn back
But I don't.
I sit by the window, tray untouched, hands folded neatly like I'm waiting for something I'm not sure I deserve.
Ten minutes later, Kaori walks in.
Her group follows like shadows.
She's laughing at something Asami says. Her hair swings perfectly behind her. Her shoes click against the floor like punctuation.
She sees me.
Of course she does.
I don't look away this time.
She smiles.
Like I'm not a person.
Like I'm a small, forgettable thing she doesn't mind watching fall apart slowly.
Then he sits across from me.
Souta.
No dramatic pause. No announcement.
He just lowers his tray and leans his elbows on the table like we've done this a hundred times.
"You didn't reply," he says after a moment.
I keep my eyes on the juice box in his hand.
"I didn't know how."
"I figured."
Another silence passes. But this one doesn't hurt.
"She said something again," he says quietly.
It's not a question.
He already knows.
I nod once. Small. Controlled.
"I don't want to make things worse," I whisper.
"You're not," he replies, firm but gentle. "She is."
I don't say anything.
Not because I don't believe him.
But because part of me does.
Not her words,
But the way I've let them stick.
After school, I find a note in my locker again.
But it's not Kaori's handwriting this time.
It's printed, typed. Anonymous.
But I know who it's from.
There's no threat in the words. Just implication.
He pities you, you know. That's all this is.
I close my locker slowly.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Then I walk.
Not fast. Not hiding.
I walk past the second-years, past the courtyard, past the vending machines where Kaori and her friends usually gather.
She's there today, of course.
And this time, she speaks.
"You're brave," she says lightly. "For someone so easy to forget."
Her voice is soft. Friendly, even.
I stop walking.
Turn around.
Look her straight in the eye.
"I used to think being invisible made me safe," I say quietly. "But I think it just made people comfortable stepping on me."
She blinks.
Just once.
It's not dramatic.
Not loud.
But it's something. A crack.
"I'm done being comfortable," I add.
Then I turn back.
And I walk away.
At home, I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
I can still hear her voice in my head.
But I can hear mine too.
And tonight, mine feels a little louder.
Not loud enough to echo yet,
But enough to push back.
Even quiet voices shake walls.
And maybe mine just started.