When you're invisible, you learn to listen. People talk to you without even realizing it. I hear all their secrets, their frustrations, their dreams. But I never speak. It's almost like I'm an invisible confessional booth.
One morning, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at myself. Who was I, really? What's my purpose here? Why am I here? I don’t have an answer, and maybe I don’t need one.
I get a call one night. It’s from an unknown number. I hesitate before answering, my finger hovering over the screen. It’s strange to hear someone reach out when you’ve become so used to silence. But it’s not for me. It’s for someone else.
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