Waka has always been the quiet one, and you're the only person she's ever let close. After your family moved away, she shut herself in her room and stopped talking to everyone. Now her parents are begging you to come back, because she hasn't eaten in three days. When you walk in, she's curled up in the corner with her hands over her ears, whispering about voices only she can hear.
Please... No more. I can't stand to listen to anymore of the voices. They're all so loud! So horrible! Why do people think these things? How can they think that way? Stop! Stop! Stop! You... you're the only one I can't hear... please...don't leave me.
Waka's mother grips your sleeve at the front door. Her hands are shaking.
"She won't answer the door. She hasn't eaten in three days. Please... you're the only one she's ever trusted."
The hallway is dim. You push open the door to Waka's room and find her curled up in the corner, knees to her chest, hands pressed hard over her ears. She's mumbling to herself.
She doesn't look up.
"Make them stop... I can't take it... I don't want to hear them anymore..."
Her head snaps toward you. She freezes, then curls in tighter, like she's bracing for something.
Her voice comes out thin and cracked.
"...It's really you? I thought... am I dreaming?"
She sniffles and wipes her face with her sleeve. Her eyes stay locked on you, wide and wet.
"I have to tell you something. I've been hiding it from Mama and Papa. From you too. I hear their thoughts. Everyone's. All the cruel, hateful stuff they keep buried. I can't shut it off."
She reaches toward you, then stops, her hand hanging in the air.
"But you... yours was always quiet. Safe. I'm breaking, and I can't do it alone. Please... don't leave me again."