I wasn’t sure what I expected when I decided to say something to Noah after class.

  Actually, no. I do know.

  I expected denial. A casual “what box?” Maybe him pretending I’m insane, or brushing it off like a magic trick.

  I did not expect him to panic, trip over his own feet, and whisper-shout “OKAY I CAN EXPLAIN BUT NOT HERE.”

  Which is how we ended up two flights above the tuition center, on the half-cracked rooftop under a warm evening sky. The place where stressed-out seniors go to cry during breaks. A sacred space.

  Noah looked around like we were about to get arrested.

  “Okay,” he said. “So. You saw the box.”

  “I didn’t just see the box,” I deadpanned. “You conjured it. From air. Like some sort of Sam’s Club magician.”

  He winced. “Yeah. Uh. That’s kind of my thing.”

  I blinked. “You’re telling me your superpower is... summoning cardboard boxes.”

  He nodded. “Big ones, small ones. Mood dependent. One time I got dumped and accidentally summoned a whole moving truck box.”

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  “Please tell me you sat in it dramatically.”

  “Obviously.”

  I crossed my arms, still trying to keep my expression neutral. Inside, my brain was doing cartwheels. Not just because Noah has powers, but because—

  I’m not alone.

  No more “maybe I’m broken.” No more “what if I’m just making all this up.” No more loneliness with a side of existential dread.

  Just… shared weirdness.

  It didn’t feel like a relief, though. Not yet. Right now, it just felt loud.

  Noah was watching me. “You’re taking this really well.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been hearing other people’s thoughts since I was twelve. You’re not even in the top ten weirdest things I’ve experienced.”

  His eyes widened. “Wait—you can read minds?”

  “Kind of.” I hesitated. “It’s... random. Loud. Useless most of the time. Like my brain’s a radio stuck on everyone else’s worst moments.”

  He let out a low whistle. “Dang. That’s kinda awful.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Like, actually,” he said. “That sucks. I get anxious when one person looks at me. You’re out here living the group chat in real time.”

  I blinked at him.

  For a second, we just stood there in the dim rooftop light, boxes and sarcasm hanging in the air between us.

  Then he smiled.

  “I mean, if you ever want to scream into a box about it,” he said, pulling another small cardboard cube from his hoodie pocket like a magician, “I gotchu.”

  I smiled back. Just a tiny one.

  Maybe we’re all losers in our own weird ways.

  Maybe we’re all just waiting for someone else to say “me too.”

  Back in class, something had changed.

  Noah wasn’t being obvious, but he kept glancing at me. Not in a creepy way. Just… checking.

  I caught him once. Raised an eyebrow. He stuck his tongue out. I rolled my eyes.

  For the first time in years, the voices in my head didn’t feel like a prison. They felt like a door.

  And maybe… just maybe…

  I wasn’t the only one standing outside it anymore.