You know those people who say they wish they could read minds?

  Yeah. No. They don’t.

  Trust me, I would know.

  Hi. I’m Veeah. Sixteen, generally unimpressed, chronically sleep-deprived, and—for lack of a better term—blessed with what most people would call a “superpower.”

  Mind reading. Except it’s not as cool as it sounds.

  I don’t get to pick when it turns on. Or who I listen to. Or how loud it gets. Sometimes it’s like a faint whisper in the background, a few scattered thoughts slipping through the cracks. Other times, it’s like someone shoved a hundred radios into my brain, cranked up the volume, and hit “play” on everyone’s weirdest, loudest, most unfiltered inner monologues.

  And if you’re wondering: yes, most people’s thoughts are painfully stupid.

  Let’s take this morning, for example. I was sitting in chemistry class, the kind of class that already makes you question the point of the education system, and BAM—

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Shit did I leave my AirPods in the fridge?”

  “If I fake faint, do you think I can go home?”

  “Veeah’s hair looks soft. I bet it smells like jasmine.”

  —That last one was from the guy who sits behind me. I turned around and gave him a look. He immediately panicked and started thinking about cricket. Weird defense mechanism, but okay.

  Anyway. The point is, my life is a mess. Not because I’m a teenager—though that doesn’t help—but because I am somehow the only person in the entire world (as far as I know) dealing with this nonsense.

  There’s no Professor X inviting me to some cool mutant academy. No masked vigilante training me to fight crime. Just me, sitting in this dumb classroom ,listening to people wonder whether dolphins have knees or if their crush liked their latest post.

  And cheating during exams? Forget it. My brain becomes so noisy during tests that I can’t even hear my own thoughts, let alone focus on anyone else’s. One time I tried zeroing in on the topper in my class, but I swear it felt like doing mental gymnastics in a hurricane. By the time I managed to read one answer, I had a nosebleed and forgot how math worked.

  So yeah, no. Not a gift.It’s a curse with extra steps.

  I used to think maybe there was some big reason behind it. Like maybe I’d find other people like me. Maybe we’d form a group, wear matching leather jackets, give ourselves a cool name, and go on adventures or whatever.

  But I’m sixteen now. And so far? Nada.

  Just me. In my room. In my hoodie. Wondering how to make it through the next school day without snapping and yelling at someone for thinking too loud.

  God, I really hope today is a quiet day.