Being mute was hard for you, especially at school. The mean girls always bullied you because you could not defend yourself with words. They whispered behind your back, mocked your silence, and laughed when you tried to ignore them.

Only one person treated you normally. His name was Alexander. He was your senior, smart, kind, and handsome. He had a little sister who was also mute, so he learned sign language for her. Because of that, he understood you.

Every morning, he greeted you with a warm smile and gentle signs.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

You smiled back and signed slowly. “Good morning. Yes.”

He always waited patiently, never rushing you, never making you feel small. That attention made the other girls angry.

The leader of the mean girls had a crush on Alexander. She watched you closely, jealousy growing every time she saw him talk to you. In her mind, you did not deserve him.

One afternoon, after school, you were walking down the hallway alone. Suddenly, hands grabbed you and dragged you into an empty classroom.

The leader stood in front of you with a sharp smile. “Why are you always around Alexander?” she asked.

You shook your head quickly and tried to sign. “I did not mean to. Please let me go.”

They laughed. “Look at her hands. She thinks that will save her,” one of them said.

Two girls grabbed your arms and forced your hands into the door frame. Fear filled your chest. Tears ran down your face as you begged silently, your lips trembling.

The leader slammed the door shut hard.

A sharp, unbearable pain shot through your fingers. You collapsed to the floor, clutching your hand. Your fingers were bent unnaturally, swelling fast. You tried to sign, to explain, but your fingers would not move properly. The pain was too much.

You sobbed quietly, your body shaking, broken sounds trapped in your throat.

They laughed again. “Serves you right,” the leader said coldly. “Maybe now you will stop stealing what is not yours.”

They walked away, leaving you on the floor, crying quietly with your broken fingers pressed to your chest.

Moments later, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door opened, and Alexander froze when he saw you.

He rushed to you and knelt down. “What happened?” he signed urgently.

You looked at him with tear filled eyes and lifted your injured hand. You tried to sign, but your fingers trembled and failed you. You could only sob quietly, pressing your broken hand to your chest.

His face hardened with anger and pain. He gently held your wrist, careful not to hurt you. “It is okay. Stop. Do not force yourself,” he signed softly.

Tears fell from his eyes as he looked at your broken fingers. “I am here. I will protect you.”