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The Silence I Carve to Survive
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2025-05-07 10:00:49Mondays used to be the worst day of the week.
Now, every day feels like a personal vendetta.
I walk into Professor Wright’s class expecting—no, craving—the usual: his cool gaze pinning me to my seat, his sharp voice curling around my name like it belongs to him, that stupid infuriating smirk when he catches me slipping up.
But today?
Nothing.
No eye contact. No questions. No silent battle of wills.
Nothing.
He doesn’t even glance in my direction as I slink into my seat, ten minutes early for once—not because I suddenly value punctuality, but because I needed to see him. Just see him. Maybe talk. Maybe say thank you. Maybe just hear him say my name the way only he can—like it matters.
But I could’ve walked in wrapped in neon lights and fireworks and he still wouldn’t have noticed.
He starts the lecture without so much as a flicker of acknowledgment. No sly
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