One morning, I woke up just like any other day. Sunlight was shining through the curtains in my room. I could hear my mom in the kitchen, making tea. I thought she was humming or talking to herself. But as I walked in, I noticed something strange—her lips weren’t moving. Still, I heard her voice very clearly in my mind: “I hope he remembers his exam today.”
I froze. Was I dreaming? How could I hear her thoughts?
It wasn’t just a sound. I felt it too—her worry, her heartbeat, her love. Somehow, I had started hearing people’s inner voices. At first, it was fascinating. As I walked down the street, I could hear strangers thinking about their jobs, their families, even what they would eat for lunch.
But when I got to school, it became overwhelming. My teacher smiled at us, but inside she was annoyed: “These kids never listen, always tired.” My classmates were no different. Some were stressed about homework, some were daydreaming, and one was secretly sad about their parents fighting. All of their thoughts echoed inside me like I had a radio in my head, playing every station at once.
I couldn’t focus. I didn’t know which thoughts were mine and which belonged to others. I wanted it to stop. That’s when I met a quiet boy sitting alone in the library. I couldn’t hear anything from him—just silence. I sat next to him, curious. He told me he practiced meditation to quiet his mind. He even offered to teach me.
Little by little, I learned to control the noise. I couldn’t shut it out completely, but I could turn the volume down. And with time, I began to understand people better—not just what they said, but what they truly felt inside.
That day changed my life. I realized that behind every smile, every silence, there’s a voice that wants to be heard. And sometimes, the loudest voices come from the quietest hearts.