Sam's POV
The rain had started early that morning — soft and steady, like it wasn't trying to wash the world away, just remind it to slow down.
I didn't mind the rain.It made everything quieter — the kind of quiet that let my thoughts untangle themselves.
I sat at my desk by the window, pencil in hand, the pages of my small black notebook already half-filled with lines I hadn't planned to write. Words came to me like they always did — in fragments. In whispers.
"The heart remembers what the mind buries.The silence between us is louder than goodbye."
I stared at the line, unsure if it was about him — the voice that sometimes lingered in my head — or about the people in front of me every day who still felt like strangers.
"Sam, you're going to be late!" Zoe's voice cut through the drizzle and my thoughts alike.
I blinked and looked up. Zoe stood by the doorway, arms crossed, hair slightly damp from the rain, her expression halfway between impatience and fondness.
"Two more minutes," I murmured, closing the notebook halfway.
"Two more minutes means you'll be running through puddles again," Zoe said, grabbing her bag. "And you hate wet socks."
I smiled faintly. "You remember that?"
Zoe's tone softened. "I remember everything you don't want me to."
Later — At School
By the time they reached class, the air smelled faintly of rain-soaked chalk and wet uniforms. Students chatted around them, shaking out umbrellas and laughing about the weather.
Sam quietly slid into her seat by the window, opening her notebook again when no one was looking.Liam wasn't there yet. He was probably late again — not surprising, considering his mornings usually came with some kind of shouting match from home.
Zoe leaned over from the next desk. "You writing something again?"
Sam hesitated. "Just… notes."
Zoe gave her a look. "Notes don't rhyme."
Before Sam could reply, Mr. Reed walked in, and the classroom fell into silence. But Zoe's eyes lingered on the edge of Sam's desk — on the tiny black notebook she'd half hidden under her palm.
Zoe's POV
I wasn't trying to pry.But I had noticed how often Sam wrote in that notebook — between classes, during lunch, even in detention. And whenever I asked, Sam changed the subject like it was nothing.
Only, I knew it wasn't nothing.
There was something about Sam lately — quieter than usual, eyes carrying a thousand things she didn't say.And if I had learned anything from her years of watching people hide their hearts, it was that silence always meant something.
So, during lunch, when Sam went to refill her bottle and left the notebook behind, I hesitated only for a second before reaching for it.
My fingers brushed against the leather cover.It felt heavier than it should've — like it was holding more than words.
I opened it.
The first page stopped me cold.
"I met a voice that knew my name before I spoke it.It told me that I was not alone.But how do you believe a ghost when it sounds like hope?"
I blinked, my chest tightening.
Poems filled the pages — raw, haunting, beautiful.Some were about loneliness. Some about loss.And some… about Liam.
Not directly, but enough for me to recognize the patterns — the guarded affection, the quiet anger, the ache of understanding someone too late.
By the time Sam came back, I had barely closed the notebook in time.
Sam froze at the sight of me holding it.
"You… read it?" she whispered.
My throat went dry. "A bit. I'm sorry, I—"
"Why would you do that?" Sam's voice trembled — not loud, but sharp enough to cut through the room's soft chatter.
"I wasn't trying to invade your privacy," I said carefully. "I just— you've been keeping to yourself, and I thought maybe—"
"You thought what?" Sam snapped quietly, her hands trembling as she grabbed the notebook. "That I was broken? That I needed fixing?"
I winced. "No, Sam. I thought you needed someone to listen."
Silence stretched between us, heavy and awkward.For a moment, Sam couldn't meet my eyes.
Then, softer: "Those poems weren't for anyone to read."
"I know," I said, voice steady. "But they should be. They're… beautiful. Real."
Sam let out a shaky laugh. "They're just words."
"No," I said firmly. "They're you. The part of you you keep hiding from everyone."
Sam looked away. Her throat felt tight, like I had seen too much.She'd written those lines to keep herself from drowning in thoughts she couldn't explain — about the voice, about Liam, about herself. They weren't meant to be shared.
But my expression wasn't pity.It was something else. Pride, maybe. Or belief.
Later — After Classes
They sat in the empty music room, the windows glowing gold from the fading sunset.Zoe had practically dragged her there after school, refusing to let the tension linger.
"Okay," Zoe said, leaning against the piano. "You don't have to perform, just… read one. Out loud."
Sam frowned. "Zoe—"
"Humor me," Zoe said, smiling. "If I can embarrass myself singing 'Let It Go' at the school fest last year, you can survive reading a few lines."
Sam sighed, defeated. She opened the notebook to a random page.Her voice, when she read, was quiet but steady.
"Some nights, the silence hums my name.It sounds like something I once lost —or someone I never met."
The words hung in the air like the echo of rain.Even the stillness seemed to listen.
When she finished, Zoe didn't speak right away. She just smiled softly, eyes bright. "You have no idea how powerful that is, do you?"
Sam shook her head, embarrassed. "It's not. It's just… what I feel."
"Exactly." Zoe stepped closer. "That's why people will relate to it. Because it's honest."
Sam hesitated, then whispered, "You really think so?"
"I know so," Zoe said, her tone firm but kind. "You write the kind of truth people spend years trying to say."
Sam bit her lip, a small, fragile smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You make it sound like I'm some kind of poet."
"You are a poet," Zoe said simply. "You just haven't realized it yet."
Liam's POV
He passed by the music room later that afternoon, backpack slung over one shoulder, and stopped when he heard a voice.
Sam's.
Her words floated softly through the door — like something sacred. He didn't catch the whole poem, but the tone was enough to freeze him where he stood.
It wasn't the kind of voice you interrupted.
For a second, he saw Zoe inside, clapping quietly when Sam finished. The two of them were laughing — genuine, unguarded laughter that made the air feel lighter.
And for some reason, it made something twist inside him — envy, admiration, guilt — he couldn't tell.
He turned away before they could notice him.
But the words she'd spoken — "The silence hums my name" — kept echoing in his mind long after.
Sam's POV
Zoe walked me home that evening, rain puddles reflecting streetlights like tiny stars on the ground. Neither of us spoke much; they didn't need to.
When we reached my gate, Zoe nudged her shoulder gently. "You should let people see more of that side of you."
I raised an eyebrow. "The emotional mess side?"
Zoe grinned. "The brave side."
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "You're impossible."
"And you're talented," Zoe said, stepping back. "Don't hide that."
I watched her leave, my notebook pressed to my chest. For the first time, it didn't feel like a burden. It felt like something alive — a heartbeat of its own.
Maybe Zoe was right.
Maybe it was time to stop hiding.