CHAPTER 1 — The Weight of Words
Scene 1: Rainy Morning at Hollowmist University
Rain fell softly over Hollowmist University, turning the cobblestone walkways into silver mirrors. Umbrellas bloomed like flowers across the quad, flashes of color against the gray sky. The world was full of voices — laughter, greetings, fragments of conversation carried by the wind — but Emma Caldwell walked in silence.
She clutched her worn notebook to her chest as if it could absorb her thoughts before they escaped. Her lips pressed together, pale from habit, not fear. At least, that's what she told herself. Silence had become her armor; words, her sharpest enemy.
The drizzle deepened, mist curling around the old library's tower like smoke. Emma's boots splashed softly as she crossed the courtyard. Around her, students complained about exams, someone shouted about a missing umbrella, and a group nearby sang off-key. It should've been ordinary — college life at its loudest. But for Emma, every sound was a reminder of what she could not do.
Don't speak. Don't slip. Don't break anything today.
Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. June, her roommate.
> "Don't forget breakfast! I'm saving you a seat!"
Emma smiled faintly, typing back,
> "Thanks. On my way."
She preferred writing — the safety of black letters on a screen. Words without power. Words that stayed where they belonged.
As she neared the Language and Cognition Building, a gust of wind caught her scarf, sending it fluttering across the path. A boy caught it midair — tall, messy dark hair, the kind of easy grin that belonged to people who never worried about what they might say.
"Careful," he said, handing it back. "The wind here's vicious."
Emma opened her mouth — to thank him, maybe — but the sound died before it formed. A word almost slipped out, heavy with something unspoken. She just nodded.
He hesitated, studying her with curious eyes. "You okay?"
She nodded again, tucking the scarf close, and hurried toward the building.
His voice lingered — warm, confident, perfectly human.
She envied that sound.
Inside, the hallways hummed with echoes of conversations, shoes squeaking on the polished floor. Emma moved like a shadow through it all, heading for her morning class. A poster on the bulletin board caught her eye — The Power of Language: Lecture Series Tonight.
She tore her gaze away quickly. She didn't need more reminders.
She lived that power every day.
By the time she reached the lecture room, her heart had slowed. The rain drummed softly against the wide windows. She slid into a seat near the back, her notebook open to a page filled with tightly written thoughts — none of which she'd ever said aloud.
> There's a weight in every word. Some people throw them like confetti. I throw them like grenades.
She sighed, pressing her pen to the page.
Outside, thunder rumbled once, distant and low.
And though no one noticed, the glass of water on her desk shivered slightly — just enough to ripple.
Emma didn't see it.
But the world did.
And it was listening.