I overhear fragments long before I hear anything whole.
Not in a dramatic way. No one stops talking when I walk into a room. No sudden hush. No guilty looks snapping away like they’ve been caught doing something wrong. It’s subtler than that, almost polite. Conversations bend instead of break. Words soften at the edges. Someone lowers their voice by instinct, like they’ve sensed a pressure change they can’t explain and their body reacts before their thoughts do.
I catch pieces everywhere.
While I’m pouring coffee and the pot gurgles its last few bitter drops. While I'm rinsing my mug at the sink, fingers numb from the water that never quite gets hot enough, watching steam fog the window in uneven patches. While I'm brushing my teeth and staring at my own reflection, listening to voices
