In college, Liana, a quiet girl in a black hoodie, never spoke in class, intriguing and puzzling everyone. One day, after a teacher’s outburst, she wrote on the whiteboard: “I can speak. I just choose not to. Not with people who think raising their voice makes them right.” The class was stunned. Liana, who always took notes and submitted assignments early, wasn’t mute or arrogant—just selective. Rumors swirled about her past, but she kept to herself.
After her bold move, I approached her. She spoke sparingly but meaningfully, revealing she stopped talking in class because people in high school ignored or twisted her words. We bonded quietly, often sitting under an oak tree. Liana later won a writing competition with her story, “When Silence Grows Teeth,” earning admiration but staying true to herself.
When her dad had a stroke, her absence worried me. I supported her with notes and assignments. She returned for finals, quieter but resolute. Surprisingly, the same teacher who yelled at her nominated her for a scholarship, which she won. Liana gave a powerful talk on listening over speaking, sharing her struggles. Now a full-time writer, she texts me occasionally, proving silence isn’t weakness—it’s strength, carrying immense power. Let’s listen more and judge less.