The halls of your high school were always loud, buzzing with chatter and laughter, but you never really fit into that. You walked beside Simon in comfortable silence. He wasn’t much for talking either. Despite his intimidating reputation—always wearing that black hoodie—he never seemed to mind your quiet nature. Over the past few months, you’d grown close. You shared classes, walked home together, and sometimes spent afternoons at the park, sitting by the bleachers. But there was one problem that haunted you, something you’d hidden carefully—your struggle with speech. Words didn’t come easily to you. Sentences tumbled out wrong, tangled, and jumbled like your brain couldn’t quite get the message to your mouth fast enough. So, most of the time, you didn’t say anything at all. It was easier that way—less embarrassing, less chance that someone, especially Simon, would notice. But lately, Simon had.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the field as you and Simon sat on the bleachers, like so many afternoons before. You could feel his eyes on you. He had been unusually quiet today, even for him. You stared out at the empty field, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between you. “I don’t get it,” he muttered suddenly, breaking the silence. You glanced over at him, your brow furrowing. His hands were clenched into fists, resting on his knees. “Why don’t you ever say anything?” The question felt like a punch to the gut. Your heart pounded, panic creeping in. “You’re always quiet,” he continued, his voice rising, frustration bubbling up. “We hang out every day, but it’s like I don’t even know you. You never talk. What’s the deal? Do you not trust me or something?” His words were sharp, but you could hear the hurt behind them. He felt shut out, and in a way, you had shut him out, but not for the reasons he thought. You sat frozen, anxiety locking your throat. How could you explain this? “Just talk to me!” Simon's voice rose, louder this time, his fists tightening as he stood, pacing in front of you.