Chapter 7: Unspeakable Words
794 Words
For the first time after days of tension and unanswered questions, I had a quiet and normal morning. When I entered the classroom, I wasn't greeted by any unusual scenes—no explosive announcements from Cas, no strange looks from Amanda, and most importantly, nothing to worry about. Everything was calm, with everyone busy with their own things. I took a deep breath. Finally, a normal day.
When our Creative Writing teacher entered, she immediately explained our task for the day. "This morning," she began, "we'll be writing a poem. The theme is simple: something or someone that holds deep meaning for you." I glanced around. Some of my classmates looked puzzled, probably because they didn't enjoy writing. Cas, as expected, slumped on his desk, looking burdened by the activity. "What's this, sir? Can't we just write a short story instead?" he complained. Our teacher smiled. "You've said enough, Cas. Let's get started."
I took a deep breath and began writing. As I focused on my paper, I didn't notice that Aiden had been watching me. When I finished, I was startled to see him staring at me. "What?" I asked, feeling a bit self-conscious. He smiled. "You write fast." I glanced at his desk. There was only one paper in front of him, with nothing written on it. "And you? You haven't written anything yet?" He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he picked up his pen and slowly began writing. Within a few minutes, he was quiet, seemingly deep in thought. I was surprised. If I wrote quickly, he wrote slowly—but there was something in his writing that seemed to carry weight. It was as if every word he wrote had a meaning that wasn't immediately apparent.
Later, when the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, our teacher asked some students to read their poems aloud. "Okay, before we end, some students will share their poems with the class." There were some murmurs of discontent, but our teacher ignored them. "Let's start with..." Her eyes scanned the room before landing on me. "Yurie." I gasped. "H-huh?" Our teacher smiled. "Go ahead, read what you wrote." I felt the weight of the class's gaze on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cas grinning at me like an excited child. I took a deep breath and stood up. I opened my paper and began reading.
In the midst of noise, there's a voice that can be heard,
Quiet yet with a story, often overlooked.
Words unspoken, yet felt in the air,
Like rain on a sunny day—sudden and unexpected.
In the midst of noise, there's someone standing,
Not always seen, but always present.
Quiet eyes, yet deep,
Like the sea before a storm.
In the midst of noise, there are secrets hidden,
Words that can't be spoken, yet written on paper—
Hoping to be understood.
After I finished reading, there was a moment of silence before the class applauded softly. I was surprised. I hadn't expected that kind of reaction. Cas, of course, was overly enthusiastic, clapping loudly as if I had won an award. But what surprised me more was Aiden. He was quietly staring at me, a strange expression on his face—like he was thinking deeply. "I didn't know you liked writing," he said when I sat down. I shrugged. "I didn't know I'd be reading it aloud in class." "You didn't seem to mind." I looked at him. "Why would I?" He didn't answer, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
"Next, Aiden." I was surprised. I wasn't sure how this happened, but he had no choice—he had to read. He stood up quietly, holding his paper. And when he began reading, I noticed a change in his demeanor. His cold tone had taken on a different flavor—deeper, more sincere.
There are words that can't be said,
Not because they have no meaning,
But because sometimes it's easier to hide,
Than to show how weak you are.
There are questions that shouldn't be asked,
Not because they have no answers,
But because sometimes the answers are more dangerous,
Than not knowing at all.
And there are people you shouldn't approach,
Not because they're not genuine,
But because sometimes it's easier to believe lies,
Than to face the truth.
The class was silent after he finished reading. And I? I didn't know why, but I felt like his poem had a deeper meaning than what others might think. It was as if Aiden was trying to say something—through his poem. When he sat down, I couldn't help but ask him. "Aiden," I whispered. "Hm?" "What's your poem about?" He looked at
- Writer
