Some nights don't end with sunsets. They end with silence so loud, it echoes inside your bones.
After the speech, the cold, chilled atmosphere of the hall still sent shivers down my spine. I could still hear the echoes of my own words lingering in corners, like ghosts of a voice that had finally dared to rise.
Everywhere I went, people repeated snippets of my speech
Wake up, coalition. Wake up the dreamers. Let the sound of revolution ring through every corner until even the dead hears it.
Let the spirits rise and question the echo they feel. Be the small axe that cuts down the big tree.
Some hailed me. Some laughed. Some stared like I was a mad girl who had bitten more than she could chew.
The newspapers had something to say, of course. Some praised it as brave, some called it foolishness from a cat too curious for her own good.
But the thing is when you say the truth, even the silence around you changes.
The creative writing department finally felt seen. No longer that useless course" some whispered about behind our backs. We had made noise. I had made noise. And it shook something in people even if just a little.
Still, everywhere I passed, I got looks I couldn't explain. Some were proud, some were confused, and others? Just piercing. Like they were waiting for something to break and then there was him.
Ben and Mary didn't leave my side.
Luna Evans, you've done the unimaginable again,Mary kept whispering.
That line haunted me.
He left no answers, no closure, no sign of what I meant to him.
POV: I don't know what hurts more being ignored, or being studied like an unfinished book.
Ben and Mary didn't ask too many questions.
They just hovered like shadows that loved me too much to pull away.
Mary brought me juice like I'd just given birth. Ben handed me a chocolate bar and said, Eat. You can't start a revolution on an empty stomach.
I laughed softly. Not because I was happy, but because I needed to feel something.
POV: When you're strong in public, no one suspects the storm inside.
A week passed I kept writing kept researching Kept pretending.
But each time I saw a billboard with his face, it hit differently.
He wasn't just Dawn Bill, the city's golden son. He was the bruise that wouldn't fade. The silence that spoke louder than a speech.
One quiet evening, I walked to Franklin Park. Not to meet him. Not to wait. Just to sit.
Just to breathe.
I sat by the same old fountain notebook in hand.
I scribbled dear silence, You win. But don't think I didn't fight you.
When I looked up, I saw him.
In a different outfit alone. Watching me like I was an unfinished puzzle.
He didn't walk up didn't say a word.
He just nodded then turned and walked away.
POV: Maybe this is how we'll always bea paragraph and a full stop that never quite meet.
That night, I finally cried. Not because of him. Not because I was weak.
But because I realized something
POV: Sometimes the biggest heartbreak is not losing someone. It's losing the version of yourself you thought they'd love.
No closure, no explanation, no apology. is there anything to apologise for?
Yet I felt something unlock, Like I was finally writing the final line of a chapter that had been bleeding too long.
Not every silence is cruel.
Some are the beginning of a new voice.
And maybe just maybe mine was about to roar