From our readers

The train rattled under the humming lights. Around him, phones flickered with videos and late replies. His thumb drifted across the glass without reading a word. The tiredness from the desk followed him all the way to the doors. The station platform smelled of damp evening air. He stepped out and paused under the streetlamp. An empty evening waited ahead of him at home. Lately, even resting felt like another chore to finish. He put the phone into his dark coat pocket. He did not rush to cross the quiet street. *I don't need to fill this,* he thought. He kept walking slowly into the cold night air.

The small town outside her window went dark early. She slid the headphones off and left the DJ mixer blinking on the desk. Across the hallway, the flatmate's door stayed firmly shut. The quiet of the apartment felt entirely too wide. For years in the city, every evening had voices down the hall. Now she sat on the mattress with her gym bag still unpacked. She scrolled through her phone until the screen timed out. An unplanned weekend stretched out before her without a single place to go. *How do people learn to stay inside this silence?* She picked up the game controller, then set it back down on the carpet. She pulled her knees to her chest and watched the streetlights flicker through the glass.

The morning light hit the edge of the blanket. She scrolled past group chats and polite replies. There were names on the screen, but none had called first. In seven months, only two people had asked to talk. One had hung up early. She had spent the week watching every word she typed, trying to sound funny and light. *Am I only kept out of pity?* The tears came before she could sit up. She pulled her knees to her chest in the quiet room. Her thumb hovered over the empty screen, waiting for someone to reach out first.

She wakes up to the quiet hum of the bedroom. Her screen lights up with notifications from group chats. She scrolls past names she speaks with every day. None of them have reached out first. She rereads the messages she drafted last night. Every word had been measured to sound cheerful and warm. In seven months, only two people invited her to talk. One of them left the call early. The edge of her pillow is already damp. *I just want someone to stay.* She watches the green active dots blink on the screen, then turns the phone face down.

She sits on the concrete steps behind the lecture hall. Across the courtyard, groups of students cluster and laugh together. She watches them while adjusting the strap of her bag. Whenever she tries to join in, an urge to pull away takes over. Her phone vibrates against her lap. *Are you with your friends?* She remembers her mother's sadness the first time she admitted the truth. She types out a quick reply about hanging out after class. She locks the phone and rests her hands on her knees. Alone in the shade, she listens to the voices drift across the lawn.

The classroom emptied as the final bell faded down the hall. She stayed behind near the door, twisting the strap of her bag. Her voice was barely audible when she asked him to junior prom. *I do not even own a suit.* His mind spun in circles while she waited in the quiet. He stood paralyzed under the pale fluorescent light. > "I CAN'T DANCE!" The shout echoed off the green chalkboard. She blinked at him in shock, then let out a soft laugh. She stepped a little closer and looked right into his eyes.

Fluorescent lights hummed steadily above the supermarket produce bins. The cool air smelled of cold fruit and damp cardboard. She paused just past the turnstile. Across the walkway, a young man was already heading toward the exit. He looked up and caught her eyes. For a quiet second, neither of them turned away. His face softened into a bright, sincere smile. He kept his pace and walked through the sliding doors. The glass panels met with a soft thud behind him. She stood gripping the cold handle of her shopping basket, listening to the registers chime.