© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved

She didn’t speak when we met.

Not a word. Just the sound of her breath—soft, controlled—like the whisper of wind through glass. She stood at the edge of the ruins, wrapped in silver silence, hair untouched by the breeze even as the world stirred around her.

They called her Bae. The Keeper of Silence. The girl who knew everything but said nothing.

She didn’t blink when I approached. Didn’t flinch when I cracked a joke or kicked a rock her way just to see if she’d react.

She only looked at me.

And something about the way she did it made my heart shut up and listen.

You’d think silence would be empty. But with Bae, it was full. Every glance she gave carried weight. Every tilt of her head felt like a question. Every breath she didn’t take meant something she wasn’t ready to say.

I was chaos. I talked too loud, moved too fast, wore my heart on my sleeve and my regrets in my mouth. She was stillness. Grace in human form. She could command a room by simply being in it.

And yet… I was the one she chose to speak to.

One night, I found her watching the sky, moonlight catching the sharp edge of her cheekbone like a blade. I sat beside her without invitation, as I always did.

She didn’t look at me. But she whispered, almost too soft to catch— “You talk too much.”

I grinned. Progress.

After that, she’d let pieces of herself slip through in silence. A shared look. A brush of her hand. A moment too long where our eyes said everything our mouths wouldn’t.

I never pushed her. I learned to listen to what wasn’t said. To read the wind when it shifted around her. To feel the tension in the air when she was near, like the world itself was waiting for her next word.

And eventually, when her voice came more often—low, calm, devastatingly beautiful—it was always for me.

“I hate the way you make me feel.” She told me once, face inches from mine. “But I can’t stop choosing it.”