Age 7
The first time Aarav Malhotra heard someone's thoughts, he thought he was going insane.
He was sitting in Mrs. Nair's third-standard classroom, staring at the blackboard where fractions were being explained in chalky white lines. The afternoon sun was hot on his neck. He was bored. And then
"I hate this stupid dress. Amma made me wear it. Pink is for babies."
Aarav turned around.
Priya Kapoor was sitting two rows behind him, tugging at her collar. Her lips hadn't moved. Not once.
He looked back at the board.
"If Sir calls on me again, I'll cry. I don't know the answer. I don't know ANYTHING about fractions."
That was Rohan. Rohan was scratching his head.
"I wish I was at home watching Pokemon."
"Why is that boy staring at everyone?"
"My stomach hurts."
"I think I like Anjali. No, I don't. Yes, I do. Wait, what if she finds out—"
Aarav pressed his hands over his ears.
The voices didn't stop.
They got louder.
Age 12
He had learned to control it by then.
Mostly.
The trick wasn't to block the thoughts—that was impossible, like trying to stop the ocean from having waves. The trick was to filter. To let the noise become background static, like the hum of a ceiling fan or the distant traffic outside a window. He could focus on one voice at a time, tune into it like a radio frequency.
Useful, sometimes.
Terrifying, always.
His mother thought he was "intuitive." His father thought he was "politely distant." His teachers thought he was "quietly observant."
No one knew.
No one could ever know.
Because what would they think if they found out? That he was a freak? A monster? That he could peel back the skin of their skulls and read the secrets they kept buried in the soft folds of their brains?
He didn't want their secrets.
He never had.
But the thoughts came anyway, whether he wanted them or not.
"Aarav is strange."
"I wonder if he's depressed."
"Don't trust him. He's always watching."
"What is he thinking right now?"
That last one always made him want to laugh. They wanted to know what he was thinking. They had no idea. No idea at all.
Age 16
By the time he reached his final year of high school, Aarav had accepted his gift—or curse, depending on the day—as simply a part of who he was.
He had become good at using it.
Not in a malicious way. He wasn't a villain from a comic book, reading minds to manipulate and destroy. He just... used the information. Gently. Quietly.
When a classmate was thinking about suicide, he told a teacher anonymously.
When a friend was thinking about cheating on a test, he sat next to him during the exam and made sure he didn't.
When a girl thought "I wish he would notice me" while looking at him, he smiled and said hello.
He wasn't a hero.
He wasn't a villain.
He was just a boy who could hear too much.
And then
Then he met her.
And for the first time in his life
He heard nothing at all.