ππ’π―π’ ππ’π―π’ πππ―πͺπ¦πΆππ«
βYou wrote about pain like it was poetry,β he said, eyes fixed on the sculpture in the corner.
She blinked. βYou read my letters?β
He nodded. βEvery one of them. Before I even knew your name... I knew your silence.β
βAnd yet you said nothing?β
βBecause your words werenβt asking for answers. They were asking to be heard.β
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