The Day Everything Feels Too Loud
1156 Words
Chapter 5: The Day Everything Feels Too Loud
St. Catherine’s Rewrite Academy didn’t do “normal school days” the way Naledi understood them.
There were days for tests, days for assemblies, and days like today—where everything was suddenly turned into a performance.
The annual St. Catherine’s Academic & Culture Showcase.
A day where students were expected to “express themselves,” as the principal put it.
Naledi called it something else in her head:
A day for people who already feel like they belong.
⸻
From the morning, the school felt different.
Music echoed through corridors. Posters hung neatly on walls. Groups of students laughed too loudly, already dressed in outfits that looked like they belonged in a magazine, not a classroom.
Naledi adjusted her sleeve and kept walking.
Zinhle fell into step beside her.
“You look like you want to disappear,” Zinhle said casually.
“I don’t want to be here,” Naledi corrected.
Zinhle smirked. “Same thing.”
⸻
They were assigned group presentations for Life Orientation—randomly selected, of course.
Naledi’s name appeared beside two unfamiliar girls and—
Kabelo.
Her stomach tightened slightly when she saw it.
Not because it was bad.
Because it wasn’t.
⸻
Kabelo didn’t react much when the teacher announced it.
He just looked down at his desk, then briefly at Naledi.
A small nod.
Like: we’ll manage.
That was it.
⸻
But Naledi noticed something else.
Kabelo looked more tense than usual.
Not nervous in a visible way.
Just… contained.
Like something inside him was already bracing for impact.
⸻
During rehearsal, the group gathered behind the hall.
The other two girls talked over each other immediately, debating who would speak, who would design the slides, who would “lead.”
Naledi stayed quiet.
Kabelo too.
Until one of the girls sighed dramatically.
“I don’t think he even talks properly,” she whispered to the other, loud enough to be heard. “Is he even going to present?”
Kabelo didn’t react.
But Naledi saw it.
The small shift in his jaw.
The tightening of his hands.
⸻
“He can talk,” Naledi said suddenly.
Everyone turned.
Even Kabelo looked at her.
Naledi swallowed, then continued more softly, “He just doesn’t waste words.”
Silence followed.
Not hostile.
Just surprised.
Kabelo’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer than usual.
⸻
They worked in uncomfortable coordination after that.
But something had shifted.
Not fixed.
Just… acknowledged.
⸻
By afternoon, the school hall was packed.
Noise. Movement. Expectation.
Naledi stood backstage, hands slightly cold.
Zinhle squeezed her shoulder as she passed. “You’ll be fine.”
Naledi gave a small nod she didn’t fully believe.
⸻
Then Kabelo arrived beside her.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just stood there.
The noise from the hall felt far away for a second.
Then he spoke quietly.
“You don’t have to look so scared.”
Naledi let out a small breath. “I’m not scared.”
Kabelo glanced at her.
A look that said: I don’t believe you, but I won’t argue.
Then—
“Me neither,” he said.
But his voice didn’t match the words.
⸻
“Liar,” Naledi muttered softly.
That surprised him.
A pause.
Then—very faintly—he smiled.
⸻
Their names were called.
⸻
The presentation was fine.
Not perfect. Not impressive.
But okay.
Naledi spoke more than she expected.
Kabelo spoke more than he usually did.
And for a few minutes, they were just… there.
In sync.
Not because it was easy.
Because it was necessary.
⸻
But halfway through, something shifted.
A student from another group laughed loudly during Kabelo’s explanation.
Not kind laughter.
Mocking.
“You talk like that?” someone whispered loudly from the audience.
A few scattered laughs followed.
Naledi felt it immediately.
Kabelo didn’t stop speaking.
But his voice changed slightly.
Smaller.
Contained again.
⸻
Naledi noticed.
And something in her chest tightened.
Because she knew that feeling.
The shrinking.
The disappearing.
The way people made you question your own voice.
⸻
Without thinking too much, she stepped slightly closer to him.
Not dramatic.
Just enough.
A quiet presence beside him.
He glanced at her quickly.
She didn’t look at him.
She just stood there.
And continued speaking after him when it was her turn.
Clearer. Firmer.
Like she was refusing to let the room swallow them.
⸻
When it ended, there was polite applause.
Nothing special.
But Naledi felt Kabelo exhale beside her.
Long.
Controlled.
Like he had been holding something in for too long.
⸻
Backstage, the noise faded slightly.
Kabelo leaned against the wall.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly.
Naledi frowned. “Do what?”
“Stand there like that.”
She looked at him. “Like what?”
He paused.
“Like I wasn’t alone.”
⸻
That sentence landed deeper than either of them expected.
⸻
Naledi swallowed.
“I know how that feels,” she said softly.
Kabelo didn’t respond immediately.
Then—
“Yeah,” he said. “I think you do.”
⸻
There was a silence between them.
Not awkward.
Just full.
⸻
From somewhere in the hall, laughter echoed again.
Life continuing.
But here, behind the noise, something quieter was forming.
Not romance yet.
Not certainty.
Just recognition.
⸻
Naledi looked at him properly now.
For the first time, she didn’t just see the quiet boy.
She saw someone who had learned to survive silence.
Like her.
⸻
“You were good today,” she said finally.
Kabelo gave a small shrug. “You carried it.”
Naledi shook her head. “We did.”
A pause.
Then he nodded.
“We did.”
⸻
And for the first time, it wasn’t about who was stronger.
Or who was struggling more.
It was just two people… not falling apart alone.
⸻
Later that evening, Naledi sat behind the school again.
Zinhle had already left.
Kabelo arrived a few minutes later.
He didn’t sit too close.
But he stayed.
⸻
“You’re always here,” Naledi said softly.
Kabelo glanced at her. “So are you.”
A faint pause.
Then she added, “Today was loud.”
He nodded. “It always is.”
Naledi studied him.
“You ever think about leaving?”
Kabelo didn’t answer immediately.
Then—
“Every day,” he said honestly.
Naledi’s chest tightened slightly.
“And?”
He looked at her then.
“I stay.”
A pause.
“Same as you.”
⸻
Naledi felt something shift again.
Not big.
Not sudden.
But real.
⸻
As the sun started to fade, neither of them moved to leave immediately.
And for once, silence didn’t feel like distance.
It felt like understanding… sitting quietly between them.
⸻
And somewhere in that silence—
a connection began.
Not spoken.
Not defined.
But undeniably there.
- Writer
