Sometimes, I wonder what silence actually sounds like.
Not the absence of noise—but the weight of things left unsaid.
The kind of silence that fills rooms. That clings to skin.
That follows you like a shadow even when you're surrounded by people.
That's the silence I carry.
And I've carried it for so long, it's almost become a part of me.
School felt different since Aariz came back.
Not easier. Not better. Just… less lonely.
We didn't talk much. But there was something comforting about his presence. The way he didn't stare too long. The way he didn't ask the wrong questions. The way he seemed to understand things without needing them explained.
Some days, I caught myself looking for him.
Other days, I caught him doing the same.
On Tuesday, I found a note in my locker.
No name.
No handwriting I recognized.
Just a small folded square of paper tucked between my books.
I unfolded it with shaking fingers.
"He's not done with you."
My heart stopped.
I looked around the hallway. Faces moved past me like a blur. None of them looked back.
I shoved the note into my pocket and tried to breathe.
Later that day, I sat under the oak tree behind the gym again. My hands were cold even though the sun was out.
Aariz joined me like he always did now, quiet as a shadow.
I didn't greet him.
He didn't expect me to.
Instead, he handed me something—a pack of chocolate cookies from the vending machine.
I blinked at it.
"Thought you might actually eat for once," he muttered.
I didn't laugh. But my lips twitched.
That was his version of care. No fluff. No pressure. Just… cookies.
I held the pack in my hands and stared at it like it might fall apart.
Then I whispered, "Someone left me a note."
He looked up. "What kind of note?"
I hesitated.
I didn't want him to panic. Or judge. Or think I was crazy.
But I didn't want to carry it alone either.
So I pulled the folded paper from my pocket and handed it over.
His jaw clenched as he read the words.
"He's not done with you."
He read it twice. Maybe three times. Then he folded it again, more tightly, like he wanted to crush it in his fist.
"Who left this?" he asked.
"I don't know," I said. "It was just there. In my locker."
"You need to tell someone."
I shook my head instantly. "No."
"Lina—"
"I can't, Aariz. I don't have proof. I don't even know who sent it. If I go to anyone, they'll just say I'm overreacting or making it up."
He was silent for a beat. Then he asked, "Do you think it's your dad?"
"I don't know," I whispered.
But I did know.
I knew the threat. I knew the feeling in my chest.
It was his voice I heard when I read that note.
Even if someone else had written it.
Aariz didn't press further.
He just stared at the sky like he was trying to punch holes in it with his mind.
Then he said, "You're not crazy."
The words were so simple.
But they shattered something in me.
Because I didn't even realize until that moment—somewhere deep down—I had started to think I was.
That night, I stared at the ceiling again.
Not because I couldn't sleep. But because I didn't want to.
Dreams had become dangerous. Full of locked doors and slow footsteps. Full of voices I couldn't silence.
My phone buzzed just before midnight.
I didn't need to look.
I already knew.
Unknown Number.
"He's watching."
That's all it said.
No context. No name. No comfort.
Just a warning.
I typed:
"Why are you doing this to me?"
For a moment, nothing.
Then:
"I'm not the one you should be afraid of."
I didn't reply.
I couldn't.
I threw the phone across the bed and curled into a ball, hugging my knees.
My body was shaking. Not from cold. Not from fear.
From the truth.
Because deep down, I knew they were right.
The next day, I avoided everyone.
Even Aariz.
I didn't sit at the oak tree. I didn't respond to Maya's texts. I skipped lunch. My stomach was a knot anyway.
But Aariz found me near the library staircase, where I thought no one would look.
"You hiding?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
"You shouldn't have to hide," he added.
"Easy for you to say," I muttered, staring at the tiled floor. "You're not the one getting anonymous threats. You're not the one locking your door every night like a ritual."
He sighed. "You're right. I'm not."
He sat beside me anyway.
"My mother used to say secrets have a sound," he said after a moment.
I blinked. "What?"
"She said they hum. In your bones. In your blood. Even when no one else can hear them."
I didn't know what to say.
So I stayed quiet.
Until I asked, "Did you ever tell anyone yours?"
He looked away. "No. But they found out anyway."
"What happened?"
He hesitated.
Then said, "Let's just say… I don't live with my father anymore either."
I stared at him for a long time.
His jaw was tight. His eyes distant.
But I didn't need details.
I knew enough. Yes I knew enough
We were both carrying wounds invisible to everyone else—but not to each other.
And that mattered more than any explanation ever could.
After school, I sat alone in my room again.
The light from the window was dimming. The world outside was slowly drowning in gold.
I reached under my bed and pulled out the notebook.
Wrote:
"Today I didn't cry."
"Today I didn't break."
"But today, someone tried to shake me again."
"And still—I'm here."
That last line surprised me.
But it felt… right.
Because I was still here.
Still breathing.
Still writing.
Still fighting, in my own quiet way.
And maybe—just maybe—that meant I hadn't lost yet.