The Reader Behind My Words

een like it held answers to questions

om. Outside, the city hummed softly-distant cars, the occasional bark of a dog, the low murmur of life conti

cation bli

ybe you fou

ad it

n a

ag

a warmth he didn't quite recognize at first. It wasn't excitement.

out loud. Characters who carried his fears, his loneliness, his longing. He had posted them an

th

as dif

omeone spe

just read his words

ers hovered over the keyboard, uncertainty creeping in. Words had always come easily to him when he wrote stories. But now

retyping until the words felt hon

ve found more than just me. You

sto

it

est ti

n he usually allowed a

hovered ab

ts he had wanted to speak but convinced himself it didn't matter. All the ways he ha

he pres

the digital void, carryi

nt, nothin

at louder in

phone v

ented. I wanted to find someone who k

isi

k him harder t

ack of classrooms. Teachers forgetting his name. Group projects where no one chose him until there w

wasn't jus

way of

somewhere, maybe curled up on her bed or sitting at a desk, phone in hand, staring at th

slower now, mo

ce. But when I read your words, I feel less i

ed after s

y that sentence s

e it implied

ection m

ly came

hink I want to know the pers

smi

his face but settled warmly in his chest instead. He couldn't

n the desk, phone close to

... talk. Share pieces of ourselves.

was a

for doubt

h

n do

inside h

y. Not dr

hange the shape

blended into the stream of stu

hing across tiled floors, voices overlapping in endless conversation. He walked through it

greet

e not

over time, how to

pped open his notebook. The margins were filled with half-written thoughts

s mind wasn't

the words from t

h

classroom, too, pretending to listen while her thoughts drifted elsewhe

peaking, but the wo

d, he

ity. Same silence.

d, pen h

's closer t

made his h

ly. It was foolish. R

d

every nigh

ntly. Not

eno

our himself into words. Sometimes, it was about nothing at all-favorit

r asked f

an unspo

ht, she

like words are s

the screen be

n't leave when they

le do," s

esit

n t

can lead us to peo

know why h

e he wanted

pas

oticed things h

ays writing something in her notebook. She never raised her hand, never interrupted

t know h

ink much of

an assignment, a loose page slipped fro

it up inst

neat handwriting

speak best

eath c

t l

lt fa

fami

ir fingers brushing briefly as she took it back.

ter her, hea

ce, he to

ad t

essage appeared

you recognize someone

ngers

he typed care

he replied. "It's

wall

e girl in class. The h

himself

he wrote. "They don't alw

ill someday,"

reen long after the

li

sc

ching closer than eit

ed lightly to her chest, unaware that the boy whose words m

and reality, something fragile