---
Haru had long stopped listening to people with his ears.
It was easier that way. Quieter.
He slipped through the morning hallway like a ghost—books in hand, eyes lowered—dodging thoughts that weren't his.
"She hasn't texted back. Was I too clingy?"
"Crap, did I leave the gas on again?"
"He's weird. Always alone. Always quiet."
Haru winced at that one. Even in other people's heads, the judgment was sharp.
His curse—no, his ability—made it impossible to be surprised. Impossible to trust. How could you, when you always knew what people really meant? What they really felt?
But today, for the first time, someone did surprise him.
It happened fast. A bump in the shoulder. The scent of ink and cold air.
"Watch it," came the voice—quiet, clipped.
Haru muttered an apology, barely looking up.
But then it hit him.
Nothing.
No flicker of thought. No internal voice.
Just blank space.
His heart jerked.
He turned.
The boy was already walking away. Taller than him. Dark hair, long enough to brush his lashes. Headphones around his neck, sketchpad under one arm. His uniform looked slept in. His eyes—just for a second—met Haru's.
Flat. Cool. Distant.
Then gone.
Like smoke.
Haru stood frozen in the hallway, breath shallow.
Everyone had a sound inside them. Even when they smiled, even when they lied. Haru heard it all.
But that boy?
That boy had been completely, terrifyingly silent.
And Haru—who hated surprises—wanted to know why.
---
Haru couldn't focus in class.
The teacher's voice was just a hum beneath the noise of everyone's thoughts.
"I hope I don't get called to the board."
"When's lunch?"
"He's staring into space again. So weird."
He kept glancing out the window, but his mind wasn't outside—it was two hallways back, retracing that moment.
That silence.
It was impossible. He'd been hearing thoughts since he was a child. No one had ever been quiet.
No one could be.
Until now.
After the final bell, Haru found himself lingering at the club board near the stairwell—not because he cared, but because he saw a name.
Ren Takahashi
Art Club
He didn't know why he was still standing there. Haru had always avoided clubs. Too many people. Too many minds bleeding into his own. But something in him wanted—no, needed—to see Ren again.
He told himself it was curiosity.
---
The art room was quieter than expected.
Late afternoon light filtered through the dusty windows. Paint-stained tables, rows of canvases, a faint scent of graphite and turpentine. Only a few students were around, chatting, sketching, laughing too loudly.
And there he was.
Ren Takahashi, seated alone at the back, sketchpad open, headphones on but not playing anything. His pencil moved steadily. Deliberately.
He didn't look up. Didn't acknowledge Haru.
Not even a glance.
But that silence pulled at Haru like a current. The same unnerving stillness. The void in a room full of noise.
Haru told himself to leave.
Instead, he walked closer.
Ren's pencil stopped. He didn't look up.
"You're not in this club," Ren said, voice cool and flat.
"I'm thinking about joining."
Ren finally lifted his head. His eyes were sharp—not cold, exactly, but unreadable.
"Why?"
Haru hesitated.
He didn't have an answer that didn't sound insane.
Ren studied him for a long second. Then he lowered his gaze again, the scratch of pencil against paper filling the space between them.
"You shouldn't," he said.
"Why not?"
"You don't belong here."
That should have stung.
Instead, it made Haru want to stay more.
He sat at the edge of the table, pretending to look at a nearby drawing. "Is that how you talk to everyone?"
Ren didn't reply. He kept sketching.
But Haru was listening—not just with his ears, but his whole being.
Still… nothing.
No thoughts. No signal.
And yet, being near Ren wasn't like being alone. It was different. Tense. Quiet. Heavy, like the air before a storm.
He didn't understand it.
But for the first time in a long time… Haru wanted to.
---
To be continued....
***