Classroom F2 was always noisy every Monday. The screeching of chairs, the banging of tables, the students' laughter—all mixed together like a night market that never closed. Even before the lecturer arrived, the room was already filled with all sorts of pointless chatter.
"Ugh, last week's assignment almost drove me insane!"
"Hey, hey, did you hear? Who's substituting as lecturer today?"
"They say he's young. They also say he's a killer."
Those voices floated in the air, overlapping, until it was hard to tell which were serious and which were just jokes.
In the far corner, a small girl sat quietly.
Her body petite, her face calm, long black hair falling over part of her cheek.
Her name was Lily. Lily Malfoy.
Lily didn't join in the talk.
She didn't gossip.
She didn't laugh.
She simply bowed her head, writing neat notes in a light-blue notebook.
Her hand moved swiftly, as if used to copying everything down with precision.
Her lips stayed shut.
Not a single word came out.
Not because she was lazy, but because she simply couldn't speak.
Since the age of five, Lily had lost her voice.
The doctors had confirmed it—her vocal cords were permanently damaged, impossible to heal.
For most people, a voice was something trivial. They could shout whenever they wanted, sing in the shower, argue until their veins popped. But for Lily, a voice was a luxury she would never have.
She lived in silence.
And it was precisely because of that silence that every whisper from others sounded so sharp, so piercing, even when she pretended not to care.
"Hey, look at Lily."
"Still quiet like a statue. Never talks."
"Poor thing. How's she gonna do a presentation? Write it all down?"
"Hahaha, maybe she could be a mime."
Laughter followed.
Lily didn't look up. She was used to it.
Though her heart stung, she chose to bow her head. Her pen kept moving, writing sentences she didn't even need to note down—just as an escape.
Sometimes she wished she could scream, to silence their mouths.
But what was the point?
She didn't even have a voice.
At that moment, the classroom door creaked open. Every head turned automatically.
A man walked in.
His steps were steady, unhurried.
Tall, well-built, yet simple.
A white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, neat black trousers, a thick folder in his left hand.
No smile on his face.
Only a cold, sharp gaze that instantly silenced the room.
Kang Terry.
The substitute lecturer for Developmental Psychology.
Still young—27, maybe.
But his aura was different.
Firm, cold, as if he could read everyone's mind with a single glance.
"Good morning," he said flatly.
His voice deep, clear, without small talk.
"G-good morning, Sir!" some students stammered back.
Lily lowered her head, stealing a glance at the man. There was something in his gaze.
Not the same as others, not filled with pity or curiosity. His stare was sharp, but… neutral.
As if he was judging, not sympathizing.
Terry walked to the front, set his folder on the desk, and looked around the room.
"Before we begin, I want to set one rule. My class does not tolerate noise. If you want to chatter, leave. If you want to learn, sit quietly. Clear?"
"C-clear, Sir!" the whole class responded almost in unison.
The atmosphere shifted drastically.
From chaos like a marketplace, it suddenly turned silent.
Even the sound of paper was clear.
Terry opened his folder, glanced at his notes, then said,
"Today we won't dive straight into the material. I want to get to know you through a simple task. Next week, each of you will give a five-minute presentation with the theme: 'How we understand ourselves.'"
Groans erupted immediately.
"Presentation? On the first meeting?"
"Sir, five minutes is way too long."
"Oh my God…"
"Silence."
Just one word from Terry, and every mouth snapped shut.
Lily felt her chest freeze.
Presentation. That word was like a hammer crashing down on her head.
How could she do a presentation?
Five minutes in front of the class, explaining about herself?
She couldn't even say her own name.
Her hand reflexively gripped her pen tighter.
Her heart thudded hard.
She lowered her head and scribbled something in the corner of her notebook, not lecture notes, but a tiny sentence:
"How can I explain myself, if I don't even have a voice?"
---
Class ended after a full hour.
The other students quickly left, still complaining about the presentation task.
"Man, that lecturer's so cold."
"Yeah, his gaze alone is terrifying."
"But… honestly, he's handsome."
Laughter again.
Lily didn't leave.
She purposely waited until the room was empty. Only she and Terry remained, him still busy tidying his documents.
Slowly, Lily stood, grabbed her notebook, and walked to the lecturer's desk.
Her hand trembled as she tore out a sheet of paper, wrote a short line, and handed it to Terry.
He raised an eyebrow, reading the note.
Sir, I can't speak. I've been mute since childhood. How am I supposed to present?
Terry looked at Lily.
His gaze sharp, lingering, making Lily lower her head.
She waited for an answer—maybe an exception, maybe sympathy.
But what came out was only a cold voice.
"If you can't speak, find another way to deliver it. That's your task."
Lily's eyes widened.
She lowered her head further, her cheeks heating.
Quickly, she scribbled another line, placing it on the desk.
How can I scream, when I don't even have a voice?
Terry read it.
For a brief moment, his expression shifted.
Something flickered in his eyes—pain, perhaps.
But only for a second.
The next, his face was back to neutral.
"Find a way, Miss Lily. The world will not stop just because you cannot speak."
The words were cold, yet piercing.
Lily bit her lip, holding back emotions she couldn't name.
She wanted to be angry, to cry, yet also to prove herself.
In the end, she only gave a small nod, then left the room quickly.
---
That night, in her small rented room, Lily sat in front of her laptop.
The blank white screen felt like a giant wall.
Terry's words echoed in her head:
Find a way. The world will not stop.
She opened her photo folder, then began arranging slides.
Not with voice, but with pictures, colors, and short sentences.
She started adding small illustrations she had drawn, simple symbols to represent her thoughts.
Slowly, a faint smile appeared.
Maybe it was true—she couldn't speak.
But that didn't mean she couldn't have a voice.
And somehow, in between her thoughts, Kang Terry's cold face kept appearing.
---
The next day, Lily sat again in the back corner. The students were noisy as usual, talking about the task.
"I can't talk about myself for five whole minutes."
"I'll probably just read my biodata."
"Hahaha, so obvious you're lazy."
Terry entered, carrying his folder.
"Alright. Anyone not ready with their presentation next week, don't expect easy grades."
The room went silent instantly.
His gaze swept across the class, then paused briefly on Lily. Just a fraction of a second. But enough to make Lily's heart skip a beat.
As if… he knew.
As if he could hear, even without sound.