It’s not long enough to relax, not short enough to ignore. It’s a liminal space. You’re not at home. You’re not at class. You’re just… existing. In the April heat. In the middle of a convenience store. Questioning your choices. Especially the one where you agreed to go for this thing in the first place.
I sat on the second-floor steps outside the tuition building, earbuds in but not playing anything. Classic anti-social move. People see the wires and assume you’re busy. I wasn’t. Just needed the buffer.
It was already 4:47 PM.
Tuition started at 5:00.
Enter: mild dread.
Because the moment I step into that classroom, my brain is no longer mine. Nope. It becomes a public announcement system for every passing intrusive thought in a 15-meter radius. Which, on average, includes:
-
That one guy who can’t stop thinking about protein powder.
-
That girl who’s probably going to Harvard but only thinks about her situationship.
-
And at least three kids who think in complete meme audio.
Seriously. Someone once had “main character energy edit audios ??” running on loop for forty minutes. I almost blacked out.
Mind-reading. Sounds fun, right?
Yeah, if you like headaches, paranoia, and constant exposure to the raw, unfiltered internet that lives in other people’s brains.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
-
Triggers: Tension, boredom, stress. Basically, every moment in a student’s day.
-
Range: A classroom-sized area. Packed with voices. No mute button.
-
Control: Barely. If I concentrate hard enough, I can maybe pick one person’s thoughts to listen to. But it’s like trying to tune a radio with your elbows during an earthquake.
I’ve had this gift-slash-curse since I was 12. The day it hit full blast, I was in the school library, peacefully reading a Percy Jackson book, when suddenly I could hear the thoughts of four kids deciding who smelled weird. (Spoiler: It was me. I had gym class before.)
Since then, I’ve had approximately zero moments of peace in public spaces.
And the worst part? As far as I know—I’m the only one.
No other weirdo I’ve met has ever hinted at powers. No freak accidents. No radioactive spiders. No one else covering their ears in the middle of a math test like their brain’s about to implode.
Just me. Stuck as the world's most reluctant psychic.
“You heading in?”
I blinked. A guy—maybe from the 6 to 7 PM batch—gestured toward the building. I gave a tight nod, then faked a phone call. He walked away. Thank god.
I stood, stretched, and stared up at the weird orange glow of the evening sky. It was dusty, warm, and aggressively normal.
Sometimes I wished something would happen. Something weird. Just so I wouldn’t be the only weird thing.
But then again, if something did happen, I’d probably be the one stuck cleaning it up. With my dumb half-working brain antenna.
I shoved my hands in my hoodie pocket and made my way up to the second-floor classroom.
And that’s when it happened.
The glitch.
Just as I pushed the door open, I heard—
“Okay. Relax. Act natural. No one knows. You’ve kept it hidden this long.”
I froze.
That wasn’t mine. That wasn’t anyone’s normal. That was the kind of inner monologue you have when you’re hiding something. And not like, "I didn’t do my homework" level. This was... bigger.
I looked around.
Room full of students. Phones out. Books open. A few tired parents hovering outside. Everything looked fine.
But someone in that room was lying.
And I wasn’t the only one in this world with a secret.
For the first time in forever, I didn’t feel like the punchline.
And that scared the hell out of me.