The Boy Who Knows My Name

Chapter two: The Voice Between Silence

I didn’t tell anyone.

That was the first rule I made the next morning—before I even got out of bed. Whatever was happening, it was mine. If I said it out loud, it would become real in a way I wasn’t ready for.

I stared at the ceiling, replaying it over and over.

“Lila.”

That voice again. Calm. Certain. Too close.

I pressed my fingers to my forehead. “Okay… I need sleep. That’s all. Just stress.”

But even as I said it, I didn’t believe myself.

School felt different that day. Not because anything had changed—but because I had. Every hallway felt too long, every sound too sharp. I kept expecting it again.

That voice.

My name.

But nothing came.

Not in the hallway. Not in class. Not even when I was alone at lunch. By the time the final bell rang, I almost convinced myself it was over.

Almost.

It happened in the library.

Of course it did.

Libraries were supposed to be safe. Quiet. Predictable.

I was sitting at the back table, pretending to read a chemistry textbook I hadn’t opened in twenty minutes. That’s when the page turned.

Not mine.

I froze.

Slowly, I looked up.

An old notebook lay on the table. I didn’t remember placing it there. I didn’t remember anyone sitting down.

Still, I reached for it.

And as my fingers touched it—

“Lila.”

I jerked back. Chairs scraped in the distance. A few heads turned.

“Sorry,” I muttered quickly.

No one was there.

But I heard it again. Right beside me.

I stood slowly. “Who’s there?”

Silence.

The notebook remained.

Waiting.

I shouldn’t have opened it.

I did anyway.

Inside were pages filled with neat handwriting. Notes about me.

She always looks out the window when she’s thinking.

She hates loud places but pretends she doesn’t.

Her name feels familiar even before I say it.

My throat tightened.

Then I saw it.

“Lila will forget me first.”

My hands went cold. “What is this?”

The chair across from me creaked.

I looked up.

No one.

But the air felt heavier, like someone had just sat down.

“You shouldn’t read that.”

The voice was gentle this time. Not sudden.

I stood fast. The notebook slipped from my hands.

“I’m not imagining this,” I said. “I’m not crazy.”

Silence.

Then—

“You’re not.”

I turned in a slow circle. “Where are you?”

A pause.

“Right where you left me.”

My heart pounded. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know.”

I swallowed. “Why do you keep saying my name?”

Silence stretched.

Then softly—

“Because you used to say mine.”

Something twisted in my chest.

“I don’t remember you.”

“I know,” he said quietly. And this time, it sounded sad.

I sank into the chair again, staring at the empty space.

“If this is real, show yourself.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

A pause.

“Not fully.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have left.”

The library felt colder. I don’t know how long I stayed.

Before leaving, I looked at the notebook again.

A new line had appeared beneath the last one:

“She is starting to hear me again.”

And below it—

“Lila, don’t forget me twice.”

I left without looking back.

But on the walk home, the silence didn’t feel empty anymore.

It felt… occupied.

Like someone was walking beside me.

And once, just once, I heard it again.

“Lila.”

This time…

I didn’t turn around.