The message haunted me.
"Silence can be golden, but sometimes it strangles."
Whoever sent it knew too much. Or guessed too well.
And that terrified me.
I tried not to overthink. But overthinking was my only real talent. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, blinking into the dark, listening to the faint sound of my mother's snoring from across the house.
She didn't know anything.
Or maybe she chose not to.
I wasn't sure which was worse.
The next morning, I checked my phone again.
Still no name. No follow-up.
I thought about blocking the number, but I didn't.
Because some broken part of me wanted to be seen.
Even if it was by a stranger hiding behind a screen.
At school, everything felt louder.
The slamming of lockers, the sharp laughs from behind me, the whispered gossip that always circled like crows. Even the announcements on the intercom made me flinch.
I kept my head low, trying to disappear.
It didn't work.
Because he saw me again.
Aariz.
Same spot. Same eyes. Same quiet stare.
I passed him in the hallway, pretending not to look. But I felt it. The tension. Like static clinging to my skin.
"Lina," he said as I brushed past.
I stopped.
He rarely used my name.
It sounded strange from his mouth—like he wasn't used to saying anyone's name, but mine slipped through anyway.
I turned. "What?"
"You didn't answer my text."
My heart stopped.
"What text?"
His brows furrowed. "I sent one last night. At midnight."
It wasn't him.
He wasn't the unknown number.
Then… who was?
"I never got it," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He looked at me for a moment, long and unreadable. Then he nodded, like he believed me. Or maybe like he saw the truth behind my lie.
During lunch, Maya wasn't around.
She'd messaged that morning about skipping school to visit her aunt. I should've felt lonely. Instead, I felt… relieved.
Silence was easier without eyes watching me.
I sat under the old oak tree behind the gym. The sun peeked through the leaves in broken beams, painting shifting patterns on the grass. It was quiet here. Peaceful, almost.
Until I heard footsteps.
"You always eat alone?" a voice asked.
Aariz.
Of course.
"I prefer it that way," I said, not looking up.
He didn't leave.
Instead, he sat beside me, uninvited, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I used to," he said. "Until I stopped eating altogether."
I glanced at him, startled.
He shrugged. "Anxiety. Depression. Call it whatever you want. Food tasted like ash for months."
I didn't respond.
But something in his words settled deep in my chest. The way he said it—so casually, like pain was just another daily routine—it made my throat tighten.
"Do you always talk like this?" I asked quietly.
"Like what?"
"Like… you see through people."
He smiled, barely. "Only the ones who look like ghosts."
My breath caught.
I didn't know what he meant exactly. But I felt it.
We sat in silence for a while. The wind played with the leaves. Somewhere in the distance, a whistle blew from the field.
Then he asked, "Is someone hurting you?"
The question hit like a slap.
I blinked, unsure if I heard him right.
"What?"
"I said—"
"I heard you," I cut in, voice sharper than I intended. "Why would you ask that?"
He looked at me, calm and unflinching. "Because your eyes look like they're always bracing for impact."
I looked away.
My hands clenched in my lap.
He didn't press. He didn't say anything after that. Just sat there until the bell rang.
Then he got up, walked away, and left me sitting in the sun that felt too hot all of a sudden.
That night, I couldn't focus.
Not on homework. Not on anything.
My mother was home again, but barely noticed me.
She was on the phone for hours, laughing at something some man said. Not my father. Someone else. A new name. A new excuse to not look at me properly.
I locked my door again.
Moved the desk again.
Opened my notebook again.
This time, I didn't write dates.
I wrote truths.
I think someone's watching me.
I think someone sees what I hide.
I'm not sure if I want them to stop.
At 11:42 PM, my phone buzzed again.
Same unknown number.
"He sees you, doesn't he?"
I froze.
My fingers hovered over the screen.
I typed:
Who are you?
Seen.
No reply.
My heart was a drum in my chest.
I typed again:
Why are you texting me?
Nothing.
For five minutes. Then ten.
Then—
"Because your silence is screaming. And I'm the only one who hears it."
I dropped the phone.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Not because I was afraid—though I was—but because some twisted part of me believed them.
They weren't wrong.
My silence was screaming.
And maybe… just maybe… I didn't want to scream alone anymore.
The next day, Aariz didn't show up to school.
His absence felt heavier than it should have. I kept scanning the hallways. Waiting. Listening.
He didn't come.
And for reasons I couldn't explain, my chest ached a little more.
Maya returned and asked if I was okay. I lied again.
I told her I was tired.
I told her everything was fine.
She smiled and told me to get more sleep.
Sleep.
If only it came without dreams.
Because last night, I dreamt of a door I couldn't lock. Of footsteps growing louder. Of hands reaching through shadows. Of a scream caught in my throat like glass.
I woke up choking on air.
When I got home, my mother was gone again.
The house felt colder than usual.
I walked into my room, locked the door, and opened the message thread again.
Still no new messages.
But one sentence kept echoing in my head:
"Your silence is screaming."
And the terrifying part was—
I was starting to scream back.