What You Do Speaks So Loudly Novels & Stories

This time it’s harder. The sound in the kitchen is too loud. I hate that even that small sound feels like a confession. “You don’t need him,” I say loudly. Saying it in my head hasn’t worked. The words land flat, against the silence. They don’t fully believe in themselves. “What kind of man does that?" I ask the room.. The room doesn't say anything. Maybe that's the point. The answer is right in front of me. I don't like it. I pick up my phone again. This time I didn't put it down.

he asks one night. Not look like. Not accomplish. Feel like. “Spacious,” I say without hesitation. “Grounded. Honest.” He nods. “Then let’s protect that.” Protection becomes our shared language. We protect mornings. We protect certain weekends. We protect how we talk about each other in public. We protect disagreement from turning into spectacle. And most of all—we protect quiet. Not because we’re hiding. But because quiet is where we hear ourselves think. Still, there’s temptation. The world doesn’t stop pulling.

Her fingers finally moved, typing: “I see you. Even if the world doesn’t. You don’t owe them silence. You owe yourself the chance to speak.” She hit save. And in that quiet moment, the walls didn’t just listen. They spoke back.

So when they called my name again—this time at the closing brunch, a sunlit event with garden tables and white linens and a crowd that felt far too bright—I stood slowly. No speech in hand. No rehearsed lines. Only the steady drum of my heartbeat and the knowledge that silence had protected me for long enough. I walked to the mic. Cleared my throat. “I’m not sure what to say,” I began, the breeze catching the hem of my pale green dress. “Except that I’ve spent the last few years learning how to speak again. Not with perfect words. But with honest ones.” The crowd quieted. “I’ve been honored for my work, and I’m grateful. Truly. But tonight, I want to talk about the work I didn’t choose. The

Focus, woman! I force my gaze away from that ghostly figure, trying desperately to focus on my speech. Somehow, I’m getting better at public speaking—maybe being the CEO of a well-established company has honed those skills. Not that it didn’t take some massive effort on my part. I can’t even recall how many times I’ve messed up and how many countless hours I spent practicing. I even crack a joke, a breakthrough that makes me feel invincible in this triumphant moment of conquering my fear.

My voice is low and cold. ************* Note: Don't forget to like, comment and share the book! This really helps it grow on the platform

Perseus and I practiced this speech for days—I can do this, just like I have before. I clear my throat, voice steady and loud enough to reach every ear. “Good morning, everyone!” I greet, commanding their attention. A hush falls over the square. I straighten my spine and clear my throat again, the sound briefly echoing off the surrounding buildings. The murmurs die down until the only noise is the soft rustling of fabric and a lone cough from the back of the crowd.

He hissed half a laugh to break the silence. "I don't ask for your answer now. Just act, as usual, nothing will be changed. I will still be your 'cruel-annoying guy'." He uttered half a high, a smile etched on my face. His eyes were on me. The place was filled with loud sounds that signified that the intramural was officially started. I could hear the unison of screams from some of the students.

It was in this moment that I spoke. Not loudly. I did not raise my voice or adjust my register for effect. I spoke the way I spoke in rooms where I had something to say that was worth the saying — evenly, with the quiet clarity of a person who was not asking for the room's attention but was simply in possession of it.

I at least thought that our meeting could be pleasant, but unfortunately, that's not meant to happen. I tilted my chin, letting my words fall deliberately, “Do you really think presence is proven by how loud one can bark? Do you think brilliance shines because you scream it in everyone’s face?” I took another step closer, the distance between us crackling with tension, “No. True presence is quiet. Unshakable. It doesn’t need to announce itself.”