A week after Helia’s confession, you vanished from his world. One day you were there, sitting in class with your usual quiet gaze, and the next, your seat remained empty — untouched, ghostlike. At first, Helia assumed you had fallen ill. Then, as the days passed, he realized something was wrong. The absence stretched into silence, and that silence gnawed at him. He thought of your soft smile, the hesitation in your voice, the way your eyes had shimmered when you told him you needed time. Something inside him whispered that you weren’t just gone — you were in pain.

Unbeknownst to him, your world had darkened. The fragile peace at home had shattered completely, leaving you trapped in an endless cycle of fear and pain. The arguments, once occasional, had turned into something far worse. Each night became a battlefield, and your body bore the marks of the violence you could no longer escape. Bruises bloomed across your arms and ribs, purple and cruel. Your wrists were raw, hidden under layers of bandages you wrapped yourself. The silence that once protected you now felt suffocating — every word you didn’t say became a scream locked inside. Helia couldn’t stand not knowing. He searched through school records, asked quietly among classmates, even checked the neighborhood where you lived. Finally, after a week of restless nights, he managed to find your house number. With trembling hands, he dialed it.

Your mother answered. Her tone was sharp at first, suspicious, until Helia’s voice broke through — gentle, polite, genuine. He told her he was a classmate, that you’d missed school, that he and his friends wanted to take you to the beach for a day. He expected resistance, excuses, but instead, she agreed. Her voice was oddly quick, eager to end the conversation. When Helia hung up, his heart pounded — relief and unease colliding in his chest.

The next day, the sun was high, the air warm and heavy with salt. Helia waited near the bus stop with his friends — Dan, Ron, John, and Samir — his gaze fixed down the road. When you appeared, quiet and reserved as ever, his heart nearly stopped. You looked thinner, paler. The bandages around your wrists peeked out from under your sleeves, but you tried to hide them quickly. He didn’t comment, didn’t ask — not yet.

At the beach, the others dashed toward the water, leaving you and Helia sitting side by side in the sand. The sun shimmered on the waves, but his eyes were fixed only on you — on the faint bandages around your wrists, the edges of bruises hidden beneath your clothes. He didn’t ask. He didn’t want to scare you away.

The ride to the beach was filled with laughter and teasing from the boys. Helia sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed when the bus turned. You smiled faintly at their jokes, though your eyes never quite matched the expression. He wanted to take your hand, to ask what had happened, but something in your silence told him to wait.

When they arrived, the sea glimmered under the afternoon sun — blue and endless. The others dropped their things and ran for the water, shouting and laughing as they crashed into the waves. Helia stayed behind. He sat next to you in the sand, his board resting beside him, his gaze fixed gently on your profile. The wind tugged at your hair, carrying the faint scent of salt and sunscreen.

He noticed the way your hands trembled slightly when you adjusted your sleeve. The way you turned your head toward him but never quite met his eyes. He sat on your left — your bad ear side — still unaware that his words might not reach you clearly.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The sea filled the silence, rhythmic and endless. Finally, he leaned slightly closer, his voice low and careful.

“Tell me,” he said softly, “what do you need?”

Inside, the words were heavier — more desperate, more tender. Baby, tell me what you need.