Chapter Ten:A Voice No One Heard
665 Words
The morning started like every other—heavy. The whispers trailed her down the hallway, the stifled laughter, the eyes that lingered too long. She tried to ignore them, tried to keep her head lowered as if maybe the floor would protect her.
Her notebook pressed against her chest, the only shield she had. Inside it were songs—fragments of lyrics she scribbled late at night when the pain clawed at her chest. She had written one just last night, about wishing she could be invisible but still leave a melody behind.
At lunch, while her siblings and their friends gathered at the far end of the cafeteria, she slipped outside. The yard was quiet, except for the hum of distant voices and the buzz of insects. She found her spot near the rusted swings, where the wind was always softer.
She opened her notebook, letting her pen hover. The words came slowly, but soon her lips were moving.
Her voice—soft, trembling at first—filled the empty air. She sang the lyrics she had scrawled in the dark, her tone fragile yet strangely beautiful, a kind of cracked glass that still caught the light.
> "If I disappear,
Would the silence sound like me?
If I close my eyes,
Will I finally be free?"
Her chest eased a little as she sang. Out here, she wasn't the fat girl, the punchline, the target. She was just a voice. A heart spilling out where no one would mock it.
But she wasn't alone.
From behind the swings, a shadow stirred. She stopped singing instantly, clutching her notebook. Her stomach knotted when Liam—her so-called best friend—stepped out.
He smiled in that easy way that used to comfort her. "You sound… nice," he said.
Her cheeks burned. "You weren't supposed to hear that."
"Why not? You're talented, Rach." He leaned against the metal bar of the swing set, watching her with eyes that seemed too kind. "You should sing more. People would like you if they knew this side of you."
Something in her chest ached at the words—hope, sharp and dangerous. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to think maybe Liam, at least, saw her differently.
But deep down, she felt the warning. Hope was never safe.
Later that day, after school, Racheal stopped at the roadside on her way home. A beggar sat there, his clothes ragged, his hand outstretched. She reached into her pocket, pulling out the small money her mother had given her for transport.
She pressed it into his palm without hesitation. "Here," she whispered.
He smiled, a toothless grin. "Bless you, daughter."
She walked the rest of the way home. Her legs ached, but her chest felt lighter than it had in days. That's who she was—someone who couldn't pass by pain without trying to ease it.
When she reached the house, though, the light faded.
Her brothers were waiting, laughter in their throats. Jason's name slipped from their lips, that bet still alive, still burning her. One of them snatched her notebook from her bag.
"Give it back!" she cried, lunging, but they held it high above her reach. Pages flipped. Her lyrics—the rawest parts of her soul—were read aloud in mocking tones.
"Listen to this," one sneered. 'If I disappear…' He laughed until tears ran down his face.
Her heart stopped. They didn't just laugh at her body anymore—they laughed at her voice, her songs, the pieces of herself she'd never meant to share.
She grabbed the notebook back at last, clutching it to her chest as if she could fuse it into her skin. Her throat ached with words she couldn't say.
That night, in her room, she tried to sing again, but the sound broke halfway. Her tears drowned the melody.
And in the silence that followed, the thought came sharp as glass:
Maybe even her voice wasn't safe.
- Writer
