No Longer Your Silent Knight
Language: en
Noah was silent. By a twist of fate and a decade of shared history, I was the only one who truly knew how to read his hands. When Noah said he wanted peace and preferred to sit alone, I was the one who told the teachers, “He says he can’t handle the back of the room; he needs to be right next to me.” When Noah wanted his bedroom painted black with the curtains drawn tight, I told his mom, “He wants a floor-to-ceiling window with sheer pink curtains. He says he’s tired of living in the dark.” And when Noah told me—with a sharp, jagged flick of his wrists—that he hated me? I chose to believe…