The Sound of Silence
The hallways of St. Jude's Academy were a chaotic symphony of slamming lockers, high-pitched laughter, and the relentless hum of social hierarchy. For Yvaine, the noise was something to be navigated like a minefield. She was the girl who existed in the quiet spaces—the 3rd rank topper who knew every corner of the library but felt like a stranger in the cafeteria. She wasn't shy in the traditional sense; she was simply selective. She saved her humor and her words for people who mattered, moving through the world with a stoic, observant grace that kept most people at arm's length.
Her family life had taught her that silence was safer than speech, and she carried that lesson like a shield.
"Earth to Yvaine! You're doing that thing again where you look like you're solving the secrets of the universe," a bright voice chirped.
Yvaine blinked, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile as Saira skidded to a halt beside her. Saira was a junior, a whirlwind of energy and uncoordinated charm who had somehow bypassed Yvaine's defenses months ago.
"I was actually just wondering if the cafeteria mystery meat is legally considered a solid or a liquid," Yvaine replied dryly.
Saira laughed, hooking her arm through Yvaine's. "See? This is why we're friends. But listen, I'm headed to the east gate to meet my brother before he heads to practice. Come with? I want to ask you about that History thesis anyway."
As they walked toward the courtyard, the evening sun began to dip, painting the stone walls in hues of burnt orange and deep violet. Standing by the gate was a figure that made the passing groups of girls whisper and turn their heads.
Khyren.
He was the school's "Golden Boy"—the star athlete with the sharp jawline and the grades that rivaled Yvaine's own. To the rest of the school, he was an untouchable icon of perfection. But as they approached, Yvaine didn't see an icon. She saw a boy shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground as if trying to disappear into the pavement.
"Khyren! Stop brooding, you're scaring the birds," Saira called out.
Khyren looked up, and for a split second, Yvaine saw a flash of genuine panic in his dark eyes before he realized it was just his sister. He wasn't the arrogant popular boy the rumors described. He looked... guarded.
"Vaine, this is my brother, Khyren. Khy, this is Yvaine. The one I told you about who actually understands your weird obsession with 18th-century philosophy."
Khyren cleared his throat, his ears turning a faint shade of pink. He didn't look at her directly, instead focusing on a point just past her shoulder. "Hi," he said, his voice a low, hesitant rasp. "I, uh... Saira says you're the only one who can keep up with her talking."
"It's a full-time job," Yvaine said, her voice soft and grounding. She noticed how he stood—shoulders tight, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was shy. Painfully so.
They talked for a few minutes, a brief, awkward exchange about the upcoming exams. Despite his status, Khyren seemed to struggle with the simplest of small talk, his sentences short and careful. Yet, there was a weight in his gaze that mirrored Yvaine's own—a look of someone who had learned to survive long before they had learned to live.
Before he turned to leave for the gym, he hesitated. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. "I don't really... I'm not on my phone much," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the distant sound of the school band practicing. "But if you have Instagram... maybe you could send me those notes Saira mentioned?"
Yvaine felt a strange tug of curiosity. This wasn't the behavior of a boy who had everything. This was the behavior of someone reaching out from a fortress.
Later that night, the blue light of her phone illuminated her room as a notification popped up: @Khyren_K followed you.
It was the start of something quiet. In their direct messages, the stuttering boy from the courtyard disappeared, replaced by a version of Khyren that was gentle, articulate, and deeply honest. They talked about the pressure of being at the top and the exhaustion of maintaining a "perfect" image.
Yvaine: I saw three girls try to corner you at your locker today. You looked like you wanted to jump out a window.
Khyren: I tried to be polite, but they don't really listen to what I say. They just want to be near 'the topper.' Sometimes they get... touchy. They grab my jacket or pull at my arm. It's uncomfortable, Yvaine. Honestly, it feels like harassment, but I'm a guy, so I feel like I'm not allowed to be upset about it.
Yvaine felt a sharp pang of protective anger. She typed back quickly.
Yvaine: You're allowed to have boundaries, Khyren. Next time they do it, tell them you're practicing for a role as a cactus and you're very committed to the 'don't touch' part. Or just tell me, and I'll glare at them until they retreat. I'm told my '3rd rank stare' is quite intimidating.
Khyren: I think I'd like that. Thank you, Yvaine. For actually listening.
The next afternoon, Yvaine sat with Saira under the willow tree by the athletic field. Saira was uncharacteristically quiet, watching her brother run laps in the distance.
"He's different when he talks to you," Saira said suddenly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He doesn't have any female friends, Yvaine. He doesn't have any friends outside of the team, and even then, he doesn't let them in."
Saira turned to her, her eyes reflecting a hidden sorrow. "People think he's lucky because he's handsome and smart. They don't see the way he has to hold our house together when our parents start spiraling. He's spent his whole life being my shield against the trauma at home. He thinks if he's not perfect, everything will break. He's terrified of letting people see how much he's hurting."
Yvaine looked at the boy on the track, the "Golden Boy" who was carrying the weight of a collapsing world on his shoulders. She realized then that they weren't just two top-ranked students. They were two survivors, finally finding a language they both understood.