No Longer Your Silent Knight
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Summary
Noah was silent. By a twist of fate and a decade of shared history, I was the only one who truly knew how to read his hands.
When Noah said he wanted peace and preferred to sit alone, I was the one who told the teachers, “He says he can’t handle the back of the room; he needs to be right next to me.”
When Noah wanted his bedroom painted black with the curtains drawn tight, I told his mom, “He wants a floor-to-ceiling window with sheer pink curtains. He says he’s tired of living in the dark.”
And when Noah told me—with a sharp, jagged flick of his wrists—that he hated me?
