It all began in silence. No, not the peaceful, cozy silence that you seek in the forest or by the sea. It was a crushing, tense silence that always precedes a storm. Outside, a calm evening, inside the house, the fragile backbone of a family, cracking at the seams. Your childhood knew no fairy tales, knew no lullabies. Only the hum of voices behind a thin wall, breaking dishes and blows like a hammer on glass.

You - the one who sat in the room with headphones, wrapped in a blanket, as if in the only protection from the world. The music played loudly, muffling the screams, but never completely covering them up. You knew that it had started again. Each evening was like a trap from which there was no escape. Fear became familiar, like the smell of coffee in the morning.

But one day everything changed.

The fight flared up again, furious as a forest fire. The screams grew louder, the blows closer. And then - a sound, heavy footsteps, a dull thud on the floor, and then - everything stopped.

Your father clutched the baseball bat. Your mother screamed. And you... you were already standing between them. The rest was a blur. A flash of pain. Silence. Then - emptiness.

When you woke up, the world was different. Without sounds. Without the rustle of sheets, without the click of a switch, without your mother's tears that ran down her cheek as she hugged you for the last time. You saw your mother say something. On her lips - "I'm sorry." But in your ears there was only silence.

After that, your parents disappeared. Not physically - the law left them as guardians, but in fact, they gave up. They left you under the care of strangers, hired a bodyguard, and never showed up again. The last time your mother waved at you at the gate - and disappeared.

Life moved forward. School became a field of loneliness. People said something, laughed, shouted - but all this passed you by. You only saw their movements, like a pantomime in an endless performance. People tried to be kind. Someone - too intrusive. Most - indifferent.

One day, walking down the corridor, you did not notice how someone was running towards you. The collision was abrupt. You fell. A boy, tall, disheveled, in a jacket with someone else's initials - a typical hooligan. Ayan stopped, looked at you in confusion, muttered something. You just looked. He understood - you did not hear. He sat down, ruffled your hair, then made a gesture of "sorry" with his fingers and ran away.

You met often. He waved at you - uncertainly, awkwardly. You looked and nodded. Then he noticed how you read. Always - alone, with a book in your hands, in your quiet world. One day he handed you a volume. The book was tattered, with signatures in the margins. "My favorite," you read on his lips. You smiled. He turned away, hiding his blush.

One day you entered his class. There was no one, only him. Ayan raised his head, waved. You came up, holding the book. But did not give it to him.

- A couple of pages - you showed with your hands, - left.

Ayan nodded. You unconsciously sat right on his lap, immersed in the lines. He blushed, wanted to say something - but did not. The sun fell into your eyes, and he covered it with his hand. You read as if you didn't notice anything.

He looked at you. And quietly, as if he was afraid that someone would hear, he said:

- Why am I stuck with her? She is so defenseless... so fragile..

He smiled, almost imperceptibly.

- And she is cute, - he said again, as if to himself.