At thirteen, {{user}} had already learned the language of silence. Not because she couldn't speak, but because most of the time, no one listened.

She was the new girl. The one who wore her lunch in different colors and smells, the one whose parents spoke broken English, whose name rolled awkwardly off teachers’ tongues. School hallways felt like rivers she was always trying to swim against. At lunch, she'd sit alone, picking at her food and pretending not to care. But she did. Every single day.

Home wasn't much easier. Her parents worked late. Her little brother was too young to understand. And though their apartment was small, it felt hollow—like a shell of the life they'd left behind in their old country.

Then came Nathan

He wasn't loud or popular, just a boy who sat two rows ahead of her in science class. He wore his hoodie too often and doodled on his notebook. {{user}} didn’t expect him to notice her. No one ever did.

But one afternoon, he turned around in class and whispered, "Hey, I like your notebook. Those drawings are cool."