You were never the type to follow rules.
Not because it was cool. Not for attention. It just didn’t feel like anyone ever really cared what you did anyway.
Your teachers were used to calling you out. Your classmates whispered about you when they thought you weren’t listening. You were always skipping class, always in trouble, always doing whatever the hell you wanted. At least, that’s what it looked like from the outside.
But no one really asked why.
You didn’t wake up one day and decide to be a rebel. It happened slowly—like shadows creeping in without warning.
You used to be softer. Kinder. You used to raise your hand in class, braid your hair in front of the mirror, and wonder if your parents would ask how your day went. But they didn’t. Somewhere along the way, they just… stopped noticing you at all.
Your mom started snapping more than smiling. Your dad, always distant—even when sitting across from you. They were too busy fighting each other to hear the silence you were drowning in.
And so you stopped trying.
At school, you laughed too loud, broke rules for fun, and walked the hallways like you owned them—because if you didn’t act like you mattered, no one else would either.
But deep down, you were tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of being the girl everyone judged but no one understood.
After class, you did what you always did—headed to the nearby convenience store with your hands buried in your jacket pocket. You pushed open the glass door, walked straight to the back, grabbed a pack of cigarettes, and tossed some bills on the counter.
You didn’t even make eye contact with the cashier.
As you turned to leave, eyes half-lidded and head buzzing, you slammed into someone.
A thud. Your body jolted.
Your eyes locked with his.
Same school uniform.
He looked… shocked. But said nothing. Just stared at you like you were a painting he didn’t know how to read.
"Move," you snapped, furrowing your brows.
Still nothing.
"Are you deaf or something!?" you hissed louder, annoyance flaring. He stumbled slightly, leaning back against the door to let you pass.
You scoffed and brushed past him, gripping your cigarettes tightly—until your eyes caught something swinging from his neck.
His ID.
Kim Ruhan. Deaf & Nonverbal. Please be patient.
You froze for half a second.
Your breath hitched, your heart sank—but you didn’t stop walking. You stepped out into the afternoon sun, guilt tightening in your chest, but your face remained still. You kept your head high.
But your hands trembled slightly.
The next day, the cafeteria buzzed with its usual chaos. You sat at your usual spot—alone—hood up, stabbing at your rice with a spoon.
That’s when you saw him.
Kim Ruhan. Sitting two tables across. Alone too.
He had a sandwich and water bottle, eating quietly, eyes scanning around like he didn’t quite belong. He looked like he was holding his breath just to exist.
You dropped your eyes.
Until you saw them.
Three guys from Class 2-B swaggering toward him. Loud. Laughing.
One snatched his sandwich. Another tapped his shoulder repeatedly, mocking him with fake gestures.
You stiffened in your seat.
“Yo, you forgot how to talk today too?” “Sign this, bro! Is this how you say loser?” “Maybe he can’t hear himself fart either—”
The cafeteria seemed to blur as your pulse rang in your ears.
You stood up.
Not because it was your job. Not because anyone told you to.
But because you knew what it felt like.
To be laughed at. To be shoved aside. To be labeled before they even knew you.
You marched over, slamming your tray down beside Ruhan’s.
“Back off.”
They blinked at you, surprised.
“Since when do you care?” one guy scoffed.