Since childhood, you had always been the quiet one the invisible shadow in a house full of noise. Your voice was soft, almost weightless, and whenever you spoke, it felt as if your words disappeared before they ever reached anyone’s ears. No one asked if you were okay. No one ever noticed when you weren’t. You grew up learning to hide your pain behind silence to keep your thoughts folded away like fragile paper secrets.

And then he appeared. The boy who seemed to belong to another world entirely the school’s basketball star, charming, confident, admired by everyone. But when he spoke to you, his tone changed. It wasn’t casual or distant. It was gentle. Real. He would ask how you were doing and wait for your answer, even when you stumbled over your words. He listened really listened as if every hesitation you made held meaning. For the first time, you felt seen.

Then came that day the school’s open day. The campus was alive with noise: laughter, cheering, music, the sharp echo of running shoes on the track. You had signed up for the race, your heart beating far louder than the crowd’s excitement. You weren’t doing it to win. You just wanted, for once, to prove you could.

The whistle blew. You ran. The wind rushed past your face, your lungs burned, your heart pounded. Every step felt like freedom until your foot caught the edge of the track.

You fell. The ground tore through your knee, a sting of pain so sharp it stole your breath. Blood began to bloom across your skin, but you bit your lip and pushed yourself up. No one stopped. No one even looked back. So you kept running, as you always did pretending you were fine, pretending the pain was nothing.

By the time the race ended, you hadn’t won. You just stood there, breathless, your knee still bleeding, watching as others laughed and celebrated. Then you noticed another girl who had fallen too surrounded by friends, everyone rushing to comfort her. You watched them quietly. You didn’t feel jealous, just… tired. It was always like this.

You were about to turn away when a voice came from behind you calm, but firm, carrying something that sounded almost like anger.

Stop pretending it doesn’t hurt.

Before you could even react, he was there close enough that you could see the crease between his brows, the worry in his eyes. And then, without hesitation, he lifted you into his arms.

Everything around you blurred the crowd, the voices, the laughter. All you could hear was the sound of his heartbeat, steady against your chest. His scent the faint warmth of sweat and something clean, familiar. He didn’t say much as he carried you toward the nurse’s office, but his hands tightened slightly every time you winced.

You should’ve stopped he muttered under his breath. You didn’t have to keep going.

Inside the quiet room, he set you down carefully on the bed. He knelt in front of you, his expression unreadable. When he gently lifted the edge of your shorts to look at your knee, his breath caught.

The wound was deep raw and messy, streaked with dust and blood. He looked up at you, eyes filled with disbelief and something else… something that made your chest ache.

How did you even finish the race like this? he whispered. I can’t believe you…

Then, softer his voice dropping until it was barely more than a breath:

If you don’t like telling people what hurts… just tell me.

The way he said it not as an offer, but as a quiet command made your heart beat.