The Language of Wounds

The sky hung heavy over the campus rooftops that morning.It wasn't rain that fell, but some kind of weight floating in the air, waiting to land on whoever was still enough to notice it.

The Awareness Forum was being held again. Not as large as last week, but enough to make the small discussion space in the corner of the library feel alive.

Some new faces had begun to sit down without being asked, some were starting to dare interrupt with questions. Andini didn't speak much—as usual—but her gaze caught everything. Or rather, it stored everything.

Fani, sitting beside her, was taking notes. Her hand moved slowly, but her eyes were alight.No more sharp remarks from other students, not as many as before.

And in the corner of the room, sat Dito.He didn't touch his phone. He didn't take notes. He just sat, listening. Like a rock, still, but holding the ripples of every wave that hit it.

Andini stood by the whiteboard, papers in her hands.Her voice was soft yet certain.

"Have you ever felt like the world is too loud to hear your own thoughts? I have. But since meeting him—the friend in a wheelchair who carries his own sky—I've learned that silence can also be a language. That being strong doesn't always mean speaking the loudest. Sometimes, it means hearing what's not said."

Those words didn't just fall to the floor of the room; they landed on Dito's chest, choking him silently with memories.

Once, Dito was merely an observer. A spectator from a safe distance. He'd seen Fani cry quietly. He'd heard the laughter of Nisa and her friends when they made Fani the subject of their mockery.

Back then, Dito did nothing. And that was something that never settled within him.He had a younger sister. Once. She resembled Fani. Not in appearance, but in the way they held back tears and pretended to be strong.

The difference was, his sister didn't have Andini. No Awareness Forum. No one. And now, there was no one at all.

So when he saw Fani and Andini standing, not with words, but with their presence, he felt something stir in his chest. It wasn't a simple feeling.

Not love in the teenage sense. But something like... hope.

That maybe the world hadn't completely numbed. That perhaps, if he was brave enough, he could reconnect something broken in his past.

***

The forum ended just before dusk. Fani was picked up by her mother, and Andini stayed behind for a while to tidy up her books and camera.

Dito approached. His steps were hesitant, but firm enough to close the gap.

"Do you like photography?" Dito asked. His tone was flat, but his eyes spoke.

Andini turned, slightly surprised. "Yeah... sometimes. A camera can capture moments that can never be repeated."

Dito nodded slowly. "Do you like keeping things you don't want to forget?"

Andini paused. Then she smiled faintly.

"Sometimes I take pictures so I can learn to let go."

A brief silence.Dito pulled a small pin from his jacket pocket. The image of an old camera on its surface was slightly worn.

"This... is for you. I found it while cleaning my room. Thought it suited you."

Andini took the pin. "Why give it to me?"

Dito answered while gazing out the window.

"Because I know... sometimes, what we see through the lens can be more honest than the real world."

Andini nodded slowly. There was something shifting between them—not love, but a shared feeling.

"Can I... tell you something?" Dito suddenly asked.

Andini nodded.

Dito took a deep breath. "I had a younger sister, her name was Rani. She... was like Fani."

Andini didn't ask questions, just looked at him with an expression that didn't judge.

"I used to think I was enough just being a listener. But it turns out, my silence didn't save anyone."

Andini looked at Dito.

"When I see Fani, I think of Rani. And you... you're different. You're like the voice I should've had for my sister. That's why I want to stay in the forum, to stay close to you both."

Andini remained silent. But her gaze on Dito was deep—not pity, not empty sympathy, but appreciation.

Because it takes a lot of courage to open a wound and offer it like that.

"You're not late, Dito," Andini said finally.

"We all come at times that might not be perfect. But as long as there's something we can help with... that's not regret. That's a calling."

And for the first time, she saw him not as the figure who always remained still, but as a man full of complexities and invisible wounds.

"Thank you for coming to the forum, Dito," she said.

"It's not for you," Dito replied. "It's for myself."

Andini smiled. But her smile was like dew falling without sound—soothing, yet not leaving a wet mark.

***

And on the other side of the campus, Nisa sat alone on the second-floor balcony, looking down.

Her eyes caught the silhouettes of Andini and Dito walking away, cutting through the wet afternoon garden.Her hands clenched slowly. Not out of jealousy. But because an old wound in her chest suddenly began to throb again.

As if the world were building a stage that would soon expose everything she had been hiding all along.

She remembered her school days. How she'd been locked in the toilet by senior students. How the sound of laughter turned into a trauma that clung to her like a shadow, how all her friends looked down on her.

She had grown strong, or at least she appeared strong. But the cost of it all was... she had lost her softness.

And now, seeing Andini with her quiet bravery—and Fani, no longer alone—Nisa felt threatened.But the threat wasn't about Dito. It wasn't about love. It was about a wound she'd thought had healed, but was still wide open.

"Don't make me the villain in a story I never asked for," she whispered to the wind that would never answer.

***

Friday came with a cloudy sky. The campus buildings grew quiet, some students already preparing for a short holiday.

But the Awareness Forum remained open. This time, only a few came. But that didn't matter. Because sometimes, in a smaller space, voices can sound more truthful.

Fani arrived early. She brought her poetry book, still unread by anyone. But today, she placed it on the center table, leaving it open.Andini sat beside her. She didn't say anything. But in their silence, there was warmth that didn't need to be translated.

Not long after, Dito arrived. He brought three bottles of drinks from the canteen. He placed one in front of Fani, and another for Andini.

And when their eyes met—three people in a small circle—there was no talk of the past.No talk of wounds, no talk of guilt. Only presence, only the courage to stay.

The door to the room opened slightly. Nisa stood in front of it, watching them through the gap. Her face was cynical, her gaze sharp.

The sky outside remained cloudy. But a small ray of light pierced through the window, falling exactly on the table where Fani's poem lay open.

It read:

"If the world is too loud to hear me, then let my silence be the language you understand. And if my steps stop, you know, I still walk in the same sky as you."