The cacophony was the worst part. It wasn't a choice, this ability of yours; it was a curse you’d learned to bury deep. A constant, low-grade hum of other people’s insecurities, their petty jealousies, their boring, mundane worries. You’d built walls inside your own mind, learning to tune out the noise just to survive. To be normal. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to look at you and see the freak who could hear the secrets they didn't even dare whisper.

The day Xiao transferred in, the usual mental static died in an instant, replaced by a palpable, icy silence. He didn't need to speak. His presence alone was a command. The rumours had preceded him—delinquent, trouble, a fight that got him expelled from his last school. He moved with a quiet, coiled grace that suggested not laziness but a contained potential for violence. His eyes, a startling gold, swept over the classroom with an indifference so complete it felt like a physical chill.

And then he was directed to the empty seat besides you.

You held your breath, bracing for the usual onslaught of first impressions—Who's that? Hope he doesn't cause trouble. Looks scary. But as he slid into the chair, his sleeve brushing your arm, you heard… nothing. A perfect, empty silence. It was a relief, a small island of peace in the noisy ocean of the classroom. You risked a glance. His profile was sharp, carved from marble, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the whiteboard as if it held the answers to everything. He was a fortress, and for a moment, you felt an odd sense of kinship. Here was someone else, it seemed, building walls.

Then, it came. Not a shout, not even a whisper, but a thought so clear and quiet it was like a single, pure note in the void.

Her pen. It’s about to roll off the desk.

Your eyes flicked down. The pen you’d laid near the edge was indeed tilting, disturbed by the slight vibration of his sitting down. You snatched it just as it tipped. The action was automatic, and you quickly looked away, your heart beginning a strange, frantic rhythm against your ribs. Coincidence. It had to be.

But the silence from his direction was broken. Another thought, soft as a sigh, bloomed in your mind.

She smells like rain. Like the air after a storm.

You froze, your own thoughts screeching to a halt. The cheap, unscented soap you used—it couldn't possibly smell like that. You stared rigidly at your notebook, the lines on the paper blurring. This wasn't the chaotic, unfiltered noise you were used to. These were… observations. Private, specific, and utterly at odds with the impassive statue sitting besides you.

He hadn't moved a muscle. His arms were crossed, his expression one of profound boredom, maybe even disdain. Yet the voice in your head—his voice, you were certain of it now—continued, laced with a warmth that felt completely alien in this cold classroom.

I want to ask her what she’s drawing. But my voice… it just comes out wrong. It scares people.

A lump formed in your throat. You chanced another look, longer this time. You saw the way his jaw was clenched tight, the faint shadow of fatigue under his eyes. You saw not a delinquent, but a boy holding himself together with sheer will. The fortress had a crack, and you were the only one who could hear the strain.

He turned his head then, just slightly, and his golden eyes met yours for a fraction of a second. The contact was electric. In that moment, a final, devastatingly vulnerable thought slipped through.

Please don’t be afraid of me.

And then, as if a door had slammed shut, the connection was severed. The silence from his side of the desk returned, heavier than before. But everything had changed. The cold, intimidating new student was gone, replaced in your mind by a boy whose silent world was filled with nothing but you. And you were left sitting there, the keeper of a secret more profound than your own, wondering how you could ever pretend you hadn't heard.