Silence.
That was the one thing I never knew.
Most people craved answers. They worried about what others thought of them what friends whispered behind their backs, what lovers secretly felt, what family truly believed. They longed to peek inside someone's head and uncover the truth.
Me?
I would have given anything for the opposite.
Because I could hear it all.
The whispers never stopped.
They slithered into my mind like smoke heavy, suffocating. A thousand voices layered over one another, a constant reminder that I was never truly alone… even when I wanted to be.
My mother's smile was gentle when she tucked me in at night, but her thoughts betrayed her. She's so strange. Why can't she just be normal?
My father's voice was warm when he asked how school went, but in his head: She makes me uneasy. I don't know how to raise a child like her.
Even the kids I thought were my friends betrayed me in ways their mouths never admitted. They giggled at my jokes, but inside they simmered with jealousy or boredom. They held my hand on the playground, but secretly wished they were with someone else.
The world was a web of lies. And I was the spider trapped in the middle, struggling, thrashing, unable to escape.
People said my ability was a gift. That I was lucky. That I was special.
But they didn't understand.
How could they?
How could anyone live with constant noise, constant knowledge, constant disappointment?
The truth wasn't liberating. It was a curse.
I learned to keep my distance early.
When I was six, I sat at a little table with crayons scattered across the surface. My best friend Sarah was beside me, her small fingers clumsy as she drew a crooked flower.
"Who's that?" I asked, pointing at the stick figure beside it.
She beamed. "That's my daddy. He's going to buy me a big dollhouse."
But her mind told a different story.
Daddy's gone. Mommy said he's never coming back.
I froze. The crayon snapped in my hand.
"Your daddy isn't coming back," I blurted.
Her smile faltered. "That's not true!"
But her eyes filled with tears. Deep down, she knew I was right. Children always know when their parents are lying, even if they pretend otherwise.
The next day, Sarah wouldn't sit next to me.
By the end of the week, she stopped speaking to me entirely.
That was the first time I realized the truth didn't bring people closer. It tore them apart.
So I stopped trying.
Stopped making friends.
Stopped telling people what I knew.
Stopped trusting smiles and promises.
It was easier to be alone.
But loneliness… loneliness is its own kind of poison.
Years passed. My gift only grew stronger.
I no longer needed to be near someone to hear them. Sometimes, if I let my guard slip, I could feel thoughts bleeding in from across the street, across classrooms, even across crowded trains.
Imagine hundreds of voices echoing at once—some sharp, some faint, some so cruel they left scars in your heart. That was my reality.
I learned to build walls inside myself. To filter. To block. To survive.
But the noise never truly went away.
The laughter of people who didn't mean it.
The confessions they'd never say aloud.
The dark cravings buried so deep they thought no one could see.
I saw them all.
And every time I tried to let someone in, every time I thought maybe this time will be different, their thoughts betrayed them.
No one was ever different.
Now, at twenty-two, I lived a life of calculated solitude.
I kept to myself. I worked in quiet places. I avoided crowds whenever I could.
But no matter how carefully I built my world, the ache remained.
The ache of never being surprised.
Of never being able to trust.
Of never being able to love.
Because how could you love someone when you already knew every secret they would ever keep from you?
Sometimes, in my darkest moments, I wondered if I would die this way.
Alone.
Drowning in other people's thoughts until I finally lost my own.
It was on one such night that the thought slipped from my lips.
I sat by my bedroom window, knees pulled to my chest, the city lights flickering faintly beyond the glass. My tiny apartment was silent except for the hum of the radiator.
Yet even in silence, the whispers clawed at me.
My neighbor upstairs worrying about bills.
The man across the hall cursing at his girlfriend in his head.
A stranger three buildings away regretting a choice he made years ago.
Always there. Always pressing in.
I pressed my forehead to my knees, my chest aching with a longing I couldn't name.
"If only…" My voice cracked as I whispered into the empty dark.
"If only I could find someone I couldn't read."
The words hung in the air like a prayer.
A hopeless wish.
I didn't know then that the universe was listening.
I didn't know then that fate was already moving.
I didn't know then that my life was about to collide with his.
And nothing—absolutely nothing—would ever be the same.
Somewhere beyond the rain-streaked window, a pair of eyes watched me.
And for the first time in my life… I would find silence.