A WhisperA whisper has slipped through the cracks of silence. No one knows where it began, whose lips first released it, whose ears first caught it. Yet somehow, its echo has wrapped itself around me like a shadow. They know only shards, scattered pieces of a story they refuse to complete. Their tongues remain still, but their eyes—sharp. Not to understand, not to seek the truth, but to carve their own version of it. Every flicker in me, every unguarded breath, is twisted into something I never shaped. Half the story is enough for them. Then why are they here?