Silence Is Louder Than Words Novels & Stories

And wrote a single sentence in her private file. “When you love a man who builds his empire on silence, your voice becomes the biggest threat he’s ever known.”

"Why don't you want to talk, Chiara?" It doesn't make sense, but hearing Wolfgang say my name makes my heart tremble. I take my time to think of a simple answer. "Talking does not solve anything in my life." I don't care to see his face, I turn to look out the window. “Words do not solve anything on this side of life, it is good that you know now. But when we remain silent, we are yielding reason to our enemy, and that is when we lose." I turn to Wolfgang.

This one would be silent. And far more deadly.

I know this now because I have watched it happen rather than theorized about it. She wrote: I learned that my silence, which I spent years treating as a kind of wound — as the thing that had been taken rather than the thing I had — is a language. It is not a lesser form of language. It is the language I move through the world in, and the world is comprehensible to me in ways it is not comprehensible to people who hear it because I have developed a different and often sharper attention to what is visible. The right person understands this without being told. The right person learns the language rather than requiring me to accommodate the absence of my own.

She said waving it off. I filled my plate with some eggs, bacon, and a biscuit. I spread some butter and jam on the biscuit as someone came up and filled up a glass with orange juice. "Oh thank you" I mumbled out with a mouth full of food. They just smiled and walked back into the kitchen. "So I have something to share" Lorenzo said breaking the comfortable silence. "Our mind link earlier Tony, she can hear it" He said pushing a thumb in my direction. Tony looked at me with a blank stare. "Is this true?" He asked. "Yeah" I said. His eyes glazed over and so did Mateo's. Purple chicken I heard Tony's voice say.

Aaron continued, his gaze locked onto a particularly vibrant piece, "silence speaks louder than any noise." "Like the paintings around us," I murmured, feeling his proximity like a magnetic field, pulling at the core of me. "Exactly." His eyes flicked to mine, a storm indeed brewing within their depths. In that silence, the tension thickened, wrapping around us, tighter and tighter until it felt as though the air itself was charged with electricity. Our shared silence was a conversation, each beat of silence a word, each breath a sentence.

It was as if I didn't even exist in front of them, as their commotion kept getting louder and running wild. I lost my patience and grabbed a microphone, echoing, "Silence, everyone!" My voice through the microphone had no effect, and it felt like I was talking to deaf people. The words barely echoed through the tumultuous square as the pack members continued their uproar, seemingly deaf to my command. Frustration boiled within me as I clenched the microphone tighter, my knuckles turning white.

He blushed as he was congratulated. One spectator from afar didn't like any of it. "Fast. Ingenious. Tsk. But he's still deaf. He's useless."

Now, the world forgets faster than ever. And the silence? It grows teeth.

Then I sit back, let the cold air bite at my skin, and whisper to myself: “Let her guess.” Because this time, I am not coming with noise. I am coming with silence. And silence always cuts deeper.