A Language I Learned Too Late

THE PRESENT

The alarm went off at exactly 7:00 AM. Elias silenced it, got out of bed, and moved through his morning with the precision of a clock.

He arrived at the office, greeted his manager with a "Good morning, sir," and settled into his spreadsheets. For the next few hours, he was the perfect employee—typing, calculating, and responding to emails. He was a functioning part of the office machine, undistinguishable from any other person in the room.

In the evening, he went to drink with his friends.

"You are a complete idiot," one of his friends mocked, leaning over the table. "You actually turned down the Bangalore job to stay here? For what? You’re wasting your life in this place."

Elias just smiled and said nothing. He stayed in silence, thinking to himself: Even if I say, no one will listen.

He went home to his dark apartment and called his friend. "Did you find her?"

"No," the friend said.

"You idiot!" Elias shouted. His voice cracked and trembled, the sound of someone who had been holding his breath for too long and finally snapped. "Can't you do a single help? Just one thing?"

Then he suddenly calmed down, his voice dropping to a hollow whisper. "See, I am sorry. But she is important. Please find her."

"Why are you so obsessed with her like a weirdo?" the friend replied.

Elias cut the phone without saying anything and went to sleep.

The screen goes blank.

In a dream, Elias is standing in a crowd. He opens his mouth to scream, his neck veins straining and his face contorted as he tries to let out a roar, but his voice is completely silenced. No sound comes out. Around him, the world continues to move. People walk past him, laughing and checking their phones. They are pretending to act completely normal, ignoring him as if he were invisible.

He suddenly snaps awake. It is 6:00 AM. His phone vibrates.

"I found her," the voice says. "I found her."

Six Months Earlier

"Arun! Where are you? Everyone's already here!"

Arun back than Elias was known as Arun then-sighed into his phone. "I'm coming."

He arrived at the funeral of a classmate. The atmosphere was a mix of genuine sobbing and the low murmur of people who were only there for the social obligation. Arun didn't feel much; he wasn't close to the deceased. He moved through the crowd, nodding, pretending to be the silent, grieving friend, playing the part perfectly.

Then he saw her.

She stood apart from the rest, a fracture in the scenery. She looked truly broken, not just sad, but hollowed out. Arun felt a strange pull toward her. He stepped closer.

"Did you know him well?" he asked.

She remained silent for a long beat, her gaze fixed on the casket. "Yeah," she finally whispered.

Arun nodded, satisfied with his own attempt at empathy, and stood silently beside her, watching the dirt fall. The silence was heavy and hero felt the silence and later the funeral ended

By evening, the sky had turned a sickly grey. At the bus stop, the clerk announced that the last buses were canceled due to the storm. Arun saw her again, huddled under the small overhang.

"Hey. Did you miss the bus too?"

She looked at him, her eyes guarded. "Yeah."

"So, what are you going to do now?" Arun asked.

"I'm going to stay in a hotel," she said, her voice turning cold. "And why do you care?"

She walked away before he could answer. Arun followed at a distance, eventually checking into the same hotel. In the lobby, as they waited for the elevator, he noticed her hand deep inside her bag, gripping something tightly. Through the gap in the leather, he saw the silver nozzle of pepper spray. He immediately stepped back, giving her space.

They went to their separate rooms without another word.

Late that night, the air was thick. Arun stood on his balcony, looking out at the rain. He heard a sliding door open nearby. It was her. He felt a surge of "wisdom" he felt he needed to share.

"Being silent doesn't bring the dead back," Arun said, staring at the horizon.

She stiffened. "Don't talk if you don't know."

"See, we lose those closest to us," Arun continued, his voice sounding hollowly philosophical. "It's life. It's inevitable. Being depressed and silent... it's a choice, not the only option."

She turned to him, her face twisting. "Choice?"

"Yeah," he said.

"I was assaulted," she spat, the words hitting him like physical blows. "They dragged me. They tortured me for two days. They forced me to stay silent. Now you tell me... what 'option' was I given?"

Arun's throat went dry. The philosophy evaporated. He stumbled over his words, his voice small and pathetic. "Oh... I'm sorry. I didn't know..."

She looked at him with a chilling look of pity. "You are no different," she said, and she stepped back inside, closing the door.

The next morning, Arun woke up with a hundred things he finally wanted to say. He ran to the lobby, but she was gone. He begged the receptionist to see the register. He saw her name for the first time.

The Present

The phone in his hand vibrated. "We found her, Elias. At the municipal chapel."

Arun grabbed a crumpled note from his desk and ran. He pushed through the morning crowds, his heart hammering against his ribs. When he reached the chapel, the world stopped.

It was another funeral. Her funeral.

The silence hit him like a wall. As he stood there, paralyzed, the note fell from his trembling fingers. Around him, people were whispering.

"She was so strange... she went and met everyone she ever knew this past week. Just to say a last goodbye. Then she was gone."

Elias looked down. Near his feet, another piece of paper lay on the floor. It was a handwritten dirty wishlist.which said

To drink coffee for one last time.

Go to her closest funeral.

~~To find someone who understands.~~ (The line was drawn through the words, but they were still hauntingly readable).

To say last goodbye to everyone.

Arun collapsed to his knees, the paper fluttering in his hand. A sob he had been holding for six months finally broke through his chest. He cried until his lungs burned, the weight of his "advice" crushing him.

STOP SHOWING PITY YOU ARE NO DIFFERENT