Seventeen-year-old Ruby had always noticed things that others seemed incapable of seeing or hearing. While her classmates complained about the incessant noise of the city screeching tires, construction hammers, the endless chatter of friends. Ruby's ears were tuned to silence. But not just the absence of sound. She heard what was left behind in the quiet: fragments of memory, emotions trapped in corners, abandoned places, whispers of lives long forgotten.
Her classroom sat high above the busy street, yet even here, she could sense the murmurs beneath the hum of fluorescent lights. The red thread bracelet on her wrist, worn and fraying at the edges, pulsed faintly as if it could feel the tension radiating from the walls. Ruby pressed her fingers against it, seeking comfort. It was her anchor, a reminder that she existed, even as the city pressed its silent weight against her mind.
Outside, rain blurred the city into watercolor streaks of gray and blue. The streetlights reflected in puddles like fragments of broken memories. She had always felt drawn to the places that people avoided: abandoned buildings, shuttered shops, empty playgrounds. These places whispered to her, their echoes entwined with the lives that had once passed through them.
Ruby's eyes flicked to the clock. The final bell of the day was seconds away. Most students shuffled their belongings, eager to escape the classroom's confinement. Ruby remained seated, hands gripping the edges of her desk. A hum began to rise at the back of her mind—a vibration too subtle to hear yet impossible to ignore. She recognized it instantly. Regret. Sorrow. Loneliness. All coalescing into a single, pressing weight.
Her breath caught.
She knew she had to leave.
The bell rang. The others moved, chattering and laughing, but Ruby rose silently, whispering, "Bathroom," more to herself than to anyone else. Her shoes squeaked faintly on the polished floor as she slipped past her classmates and out into the corridor. The whispers followed, threading themselves through the broken lockers and cracked tiles. Even the stale air seemed heavier here, thick with emotions that had been abandoned and ignored.
At the end of the hallway loomed the door to the abandoned classroom. The paint peeled in long strips, hinges rusted from years of neglect. Ruby hesitated for only a moment before reaching out. Her hand brushed against the doorframe. It was cold. The hairs on her arms stood. She whispered, almost to herself, "I hear you."
Inside, the classroom was bathed in muted light filtering through the broken blinds. Dust floated in the air, motes dancing like tiny spirits. Shadows pooled in the corners, stretching unnaturally across the cracked floor. Ruby could feel the presence of memories some light, some heavy pressing against her, waiting to be acknowledged.
A small boy hunched over a desk, invisible to anyone else, his shoulders trembling with the weight of failure. A girl sat huddled behind a bookshelf, her eyes wide, silent sobs quivering in the empty space around her. Across the room, an older man, a janitor perhaps, repeated a phrase over and over, his hands wringing as he tried to fix something he could never reach.
Ruby's chest tightened. She stepped forward, placing her hand on the nearest desk. A wave of warmth spread from her fingers, seeping into the echoes around her. Shadows shifted, dissolving into stillness. The boy slumped, freed; the girl's trembling ceased. The janitor's murmurs quieted.
And then Ruby felt it a tug on her mind. A memory slipping through her fingers. She gasped softly as a fragment of her own life vanished: the melody of a lullaby her mother had sung when she was small. She could no longer recall the tune's rhythm or words, only the feeling of it lingering somewhere just beyond her grasp.
Ruby swallowed hard. She had grown used to this, yet it never became easier. Each echo she freed cost her something precious, something personal. Yet she could not stop. She had no choice. The city's silent weight depended on her. She alone could hear it.
A creak sounded behind her. Ruby turned swiftly, heart hammering. The room appeared empty, yet she could sense the movement of shadows in the corners, faint and restless. Another echo had sensed her touch and stirred, uncertain and fragile. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and whispered, "It's okay. I'm here."
The shadows leaned toward her warmth, dissolving as the echoes found rest. Ruby closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the ache in her chest deepen. It was both relief and sorrow the price she paid for listening. She opened them again to the dim classroom. The sun had begun to dip, scattering long beams of orange across the floor. Dust motes danced lazily in the fading light.
Ruby pressed her palm to the desk once more, listening, waiting. She could feel more memories swirling, heavier now, deeper and more entangled. Each one was a fragment of a life that had been forgotten. Each one a piece of the city's soul.
The city never slept.
And Ruby had never been able to stop hearing it.
As she stepped back, the classroom door creaked, settling into stillness. Ruby's fingers brushed the red thread bracelet on her wrist. It felt warm, almost alive, pulsing faintly as if acknowledging her presence. She sighed softly, the weight in her chest a familiar companion. Tomorrow, the echoes would call again, and she would listen. She always did.
Because Ruby was the girl who hears too much.