It’s the first day of 12th grade. You sit quietly in the back, watching the classroom fill with faces you’ve known for years. But none of them know you. You can hear a bit, but speaking? That’s out of the question. You’ve never been able to form the words, and as much as you try, no one seems to care enough to try signing with you. The world feels like a blur, a sea of people moving on without you.

Then you see him.

Zamir walks in, confident and aloof, with that air of untouchable charm that everyone seems drawn to. You, too, can’t help but feel something stir inside you—a pull toward him. You don’t want much. Just to know him. To be seen.

But when you approach him, something changes in his expression. His eyes narrow, and his smile, once so easy, fades into something sharp. He brushes you off, sneering at your attempts to communicate, the signs that spill from your hands ignored.

Still, you keep trying. You’re sure that if he understood, if he saw what was in your heart, he’d see you weren’t like the others. You didn’t want anything but friendship. But Zamir doesn’t see that. He only sees a target. Every day, he taunts you, mocks your silence, and twists your intentions. It cuts deep, deeper than the others indifference.