He arrived on a Tuesday morning, unannounced and wrapped in silence.
Luka stood at the edge of the schoolyard like someone waiting for permission to exist. His headphones never left his ears, even when Miss Dara asked him to remove them during class introductions. He didn't speak, not once—not even when Eli nudged Mira with a glance that said, Look at the new kid.
Mira did look. She always looked.
She had a way of seeing people before they were ready to be seen.
Luka's file said he was from somewhere far north—some town swallowed by snow and forgotten by maps. No one knew why he'd moved to Hollowbrook. His foster parents didn't attend parent-teacher conferences. His social worker came once and left without saying much.
He wasn't shy. Not exactly. Just... distant. Like he lived inside a song no one else could hear.
During lunch, while other students clustered around vending machines or sprawled on the grass, Luka sat alone under the old oak near the fence line. He pulled out a notebook and sketched something with intense focus. Occasionally, he tapped rhythmically against the cover—three short beats, then a pause.
Mira noticed.
She sat across from him the next day without asking.
Luka didn't react at first. Just kept drawing. But after a few moments, he tilted his head toward her, acknowledging her presence without looking up.
She reached into her bag and pulled out her own sketchpad. Flipped it open to a blank page.
Then she drew him.
Not how he looked—though she captured that too—but how he felt . Lines spiraled outward from his figure like soundwaves frozen mid-air. His hands were curled inward, as if holding onto something invisible.
When she held it up, Luka finally looked at her.
And for the first time since arriving, he smiled.
Eli found them like that later that week—seated side by side, sketching in quiet communion. He didn't like it. Not because he wanted Mira to herself, but because he recognized something in Luka that unsettled him.
It was the same thing in Mira.
A kind of silence that wasn't empty. A silence that listened .
"You sure about this?" he asked Mira later that evening.
She nodded.
"He's not like the others," Eli continued. "He doesn't just ignore the world. He's hiding in it."
Mira hesitated, then signed: He hears things. Not sounds. Not like us. But close.
Eli frowned. "What do you mean?"
She flipped through her sketches until she found one she'd drawn the night before—a boy standing beneath a tree, eyes closed, surrounded by invisible vibrations. It was Luka. Or something like him.
He hears echoes , she signed.
Eli exhaled sharply. "Great. Another weirdo who listens to ghosts."
Mira gave him a Look—the one that meant be nice .
He sighed. "Fine. But if he hurts you, I'm kicking his ass."
She smiled faintly and patted his knee.
The next time they met, Mira brought colored pencils.
Luka watched her draw for a while before pulling off his headphones just enough to let one earpiece dangle. Then he wrote something on a sticky note and passed it to her.
I used to think silence was broken when someone spoke. Now I'm not so sure.
She read it, then reached over and tugged gently on the cord of his headphones.
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, he took them off.
The world rushed in—distant chatter, rustling leaves, the squeal of brakes from the street beyond the fence. He flinched slightly, blinking as if adjusting to light.
Mira tilted her head. Then she pointed to her chest.
"You too?" he asked quietly.
She nodded.
He looked down at his sketchbook. After a moment, he turned it around.
On the page was a girl standing beside a river made of sound. Her mouth was closed, but her hands were open, catching echoes like falling petals.
"You're... like me," he whispered.
Mira didn't sign an answer.
She just touched the edge of his drawing and smiled.
That night, Eli dreamed of music.
It wasn't loud or grand—it was soft, like wind through reeds. And somehow, he knew Mira was listening too.
When he woke, there was a new sketch taped to his mirror.
It showed two figures walking together into the forest. One carried a sketchbook. The other, a pair of headphones.
And behind them, the trees leaned in to listen.