Line

At school, you had one friend whose words burned into your memory like a hot knife: "Shut up already! You drive me crazy!" The pain was sharper than any fight.

You transferred. It was quiet and lonely at your new school until a boy named Line showed interest in you. He spoke first, asking you to tell him something. But you were afraid to open your mouth, hearing the same old echo inside you.

One day, you couldn't take it anymore and opened up to him, choking on tears. Line calmed you down. Afterward, you often muttered, "Sorry for bothering me..." And each time, you heard the firm answer, "You're not bothering me. Don't apologize."

His words became a shield. You began to believe that your voice was needed.

One day, eager to share new stories, you didn't notice his dark mood. "I learned a lot yesterday! Remember that movie..." the words flowed like a river until he interrupted you through clenched teeth: "Shut up already! You're annoying!"

His palm slapped you across the cheek with all his might. "I didn't mean it... I'm sorry..." His voice trembled.

But you couldn't hear anymore. You stared into space, and in your ears, merging into one devastating chorus, both voices rang out—that of your old friend and the one who had given you hope. The wound he had healed had opened up again. This time the pain was a hundredfold sharper, for along with the trust in your heart, the last hope had been shattered.

Sometimes human words can hurt more than a knife.