The Weight of Silence

 

By Alan Nguyen

There are moments in life when silence feels louder than any scream. I used to think silence meant peace — a break from the chaos, a breath in a world that never stops spinning. But sometimes silence is just the echo of everything we’ve lost.

It was a gray afternoon when Meh stopped talking. No warning, no goodbye, just quiet. The kind of quiet that presses on your chest and makes every heartbeat sound wrong. People said Meh was fine, just tired, just thinking. But I knew better. Meh had seen too much.

He wasn’t scared of the world — he was scared of feeling nothing.

I walked through the streets that day, hands in my pockets, thinking about how people forget that even strong minds can break. We all wear smiles like armor, hoping no one notices the cracks underneath. Meh used to tell me, “Pain doesn’t need to be loud to hurt.” I never understood that until now.

As the sun sank behind the buildings, I realized that Meh wasn’t gone. He was just quiet because the world had shouted too long, too hard. Maybe he needed silence to find himself again.

And maybe… I did too.

So I didn’t call out his name. I didn’t search. I just stood there and listened to the wind move through the empty streets. For the first time, the silence didn’t feel heavy. It felt honest.

Sometimes, losing your voice is how you learn to listen.

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— Alan Nguyen