### **The Things Unsaid**
I was five years old.
I had not spoken a word.
The villagers whispered. *"The boy's simple,"* they said. *"A sweet child, but slow."*
My parents never agreed.
My mother would brush my hair and say, *"He listens better than any of us."*
My father would toss me into the air and grin. *"He'll speak when he's ready."*
They were right.
I **heard** everything.
- The way the blacksmith's wife sighed when she thought no one was listening.
- The tremor in the hunter's voice when he spoke of the dark woods.
- The lullabies my mother hummed, her voice softening at the edges like worn leather.
Words were unnecessary.
The truth was in the silence between them.
---
### **The Incident at the River**
Summer came, and the children played in the shallows.
I sat on the bank, my toes in the mud.
Then—
A cry.
Little Tessa had slipped, the current dragging her toward the rapids.
The other children froze.
I did not.
My body moved before my mind could calculate.
**[Distance: 4.2 meters. Current velocity: 3.1 m/s. Probability of successful retrieval: 38%—]**
I plunged in.
The water was **cold**. The rocks **sharp**.
But my fingers closed around Tessa's wrist.
We washed up downstream, coughing, bleeding, **alive**.
Her mother wept as she clutched us both. *"Thank you, thank you—"*
I said nothing.
But that night, my father held me tighter than usual.
And for the first time, I understood—
Some things didn't need numbers.