One morning, I woke up and realized I could hear everyones inner voice.
At first, I thought I was still dreaming. But the voices were persistent, overlapping, a cacophony of whispered thoughts flooding my mind. My brother, sitting across from me at breakfast, stared at his cereal while his inner voice grumbled, This again? I swear, if Mom buys one more box of this cardboard excuse for breakfast…
I dropped my spoon. “You don’t like cereal?” I asked.
He blinked. “Did I say that?” His mouth hadn’t moved, but I had definitely heard it.
And that was just the beginning.
As I stepped outside, the world roared into focus—not with chatter, but with thoughts. The neighbor across the street was silently panicking about an overdue bill. The barista at the café was rehearsing a conversation in her head about quitting her job. My teacher, usually composed, was mentally reciting affirmations to get through the day: You are strong. You can do this.
I felt like an intruder, accidentally tuning into a radio station meant only for its listeners. But as the hours passed, I couldn’t shut it off. The voices poured in, uncensored and raw. I heard joy, fear, frustration. I heard secrets.
And then I heard his voice.
James. The one person who had always seemed unreachable,cool, distant, untouchable.
His inner voice was nothing like I expected. It was just some 1999 hip hop music. No words no nothing just that annoying music
I nearly tripped over my own feet.
By nightfall, exhaustion set in. I buried my head under a pillow, desperately wishing for silence. And then, slowly, the voices faded.
The next morning, I woke up to blissful quiet.
But something had changed. I knew people better now knew their fears, their hopes, their truths. And maybe, just maybe, I understood myself a little more too.