You had Claire to thank for dragging you to eat lunch with Johnny Kavanagh and his friends every day. What started as awkward group meals quickly turned into a strange sort of comfort. They were louder, chattier, bolder than you, but you didn’t mind. You liked listening.

Still, they noticed how quiet you were. “Cat got your tongue?” “Born mute?” “Use a full sentence, just once?” They’d laugh, not cruelly, but enough to make you smile awkwardly and shrink a little deeper into yourself.

The truth was, you wanted to speak. But every time you opened your mouth, someone else would talk over you without meaning to. And eventually, staying quiet felt easier.

Nobody really noticed. Except Johnny.

Today at lunch, he asked a question about your shared history class. You had the answer—finally, a moment to speak—but just as you opened your mouth, someone jumped in quicker. You froze, words dying on your lips, cheeks heating.

Then Johnny’s voice cut through the noise, calm but sharp. “Hey, maybe wait your turn? She was trying to talk.”

The table went quiet and he turned to you, gaze steady. “Go on,” he said softly. “I want to hear you.”