The yellow school bus pulled to a halt, a familiar jolt in my morning routine. I adjusted my headphones, the music a blessed shield against the cacophony of thoughts that constantly threatened to overwhelm me. My name is Natalie Howard, and at eighteen, I'm just trying to survive my final year of high school with a secret that makes every interaction a minefield: I can read minds. It started after a heart transplant when I was six, and ever since, the world has been a chaotic symphony of unspoken desires, judgments, and mundane anxieties.

Today, the usual bus stop chaos felt particularly loud. A man behind me tapped my shoulder, and his thoughts, normally a distant hum, suddenly blared in my ears, sharp and disgusting. I pulled off my headset, the world's thoughts rushing in like a tide, and glared at him. "The bus has stopped," he said, seemingly innocuous, but his mind screamed about 'sexy thighs.' I instinctively tugged down my school skirt, already at a modest length, feeling the familiar prickle of irritation. This was my life. Every. Single. Day.

As I stepped off the bus and walked towards the sprawling campus of Bloomington High, a wave of apprehension washed over me. Another year. More minds. More noise. I wished I was normal, just like everyone else. My mom called it a gift, my dad, a curse. I just called it exhausting. Little did I know, this year, a new silence was about to enter my life, a silence that would challenge everything I thought I knew about myself and my 'gift.'