David(narrating)
Adrian, I suppose if I were to speak of love, it would not start where others expect. There are no flowers in this tale. There is no grand gesture. Only the sound of laughter fading into silence and names I still avoid pronouncing when I pass old school buildings.
It was back in Form Three, at the heart of my time as "The Listener." I had already grown into that label — not by desire, but by circumstance. I knew what it meant to go unnoticed until needed. I had learned early how to sit beside people, let them speak, then carry their pain on my shoulders while my own aches rotted quietly inside me.
I had only one real friend then — Bruce. Loyal, reckless, and charismatic. His girlfriend Bridget was the opposite — focused, sharp-tongued, and always calculating. The two of them existed like fire and steel.
One day they decided I needed to "get out of my head," so they dragged me along to some cheap diner in town. It was supposed to be casual, but I didn't know then they were tagging me into a blind date.
That's when I met Lucie.
She wasn't beautiful in a way that made the room stop. No — she was beautiful like a question you don't know the answer to but want to spend years solving. Her silence was louder than conversations, and when she looked at you, it felt like she was deciding whether or not to let you matter.
We "dated," if that's what you could call it. There were no kisses. No deep declarations. Just long talks about the sky, exchanged snacks after prep, and sitting together during church. And somehow, that was enough — or maybe I just convinced myself it was.
Then there was Abigail. Not a girlfriend. Not a crush. She was my friend. The one person who knew how to listen back. She was dating a boy named Nabal.
Abigail… she was dating a boy named Nabal. Charming in public, vicious in the shadows. He was my friend too — not a close one, but a familiar face in dorm corridors and stolen bread lines. He was the kind of guy who always spoke loud enough to be remembered, even when he said nothing worth hearing.
And then I found out he was cheating on her.
I didn't tell her right away. I wanted to believe it was a mistake. That I had imagined it. That maybe if I prayed enough, it wouldn't be true. But days passed, and I watched Abigail's eyes dim with the kind of confusion you don't voice. So I told her. Not as The Listener. Not as a boy with good intentions. Just as someone who couldn't bear to see her break without knowing why.
She dumped him.
And then, strangely… we grew closer. She was vulnerable, and I — I was her shelter. At least, that's what I told myself. I never touched her. Never even hinted. But every late-night chat, every quiet walk to the tuck shop, every time our eyes held for too long — it was dangerous.
People began to whisper.
And whispers grow wings in boarding school. They flew straight to Lucie. To Bridget.To Ali.
Nabal… Nabal didn't take it lightly. I had broken his image. Humiliated him. And what's worse — I didn't lie. I told the truth. But sometimes the truth hurts more than lies ever could. And so he struck back, not with fists, but with poison — words.
He told Bridget I was trying to break her and Bruce apart. That I had said Bruce was cheating with Lucie. That I was playing them all, weaving tales like a jealous puppet master.
Bridget confronted them. Bruce and Lucie denied everything. And then Lucie — the girl who never kissed me — accused me of being the one cheating. With Abigail.
I laughed at first. A bitter laugh, the kind that sounds like a wound opening. But no one else was laughing. Not Bruce. Not Bridget. And definitely not Abigail, who had just started to find her footing again.
I lost everything that week.
Lucie walked away. Said I was just a boy who couldn't handle being invisible. Bridget spat in my direction in front of the whole dining hall. Bruce punched a wall and called me names I had never heard from a friend.
And Abigail… Abigail said nothing. Just looked at me like I was a stranger wearing David's face.
And Nabal? He returned to her. Whispered that I had orchestrated everything to get her. That I was never helping — just hunting.
She believed him.
And the worst part?
I understood why.
Because when someone breaks your heart, you cling to whatever sounds like healing — even if it comes from the same hands that bruised you.
...
David (softening voice)
So when Adrian asked me why I never dated again…
When he asked why I stayed alone, why the name David still haunts me like a curse and a crown…
It wasn't because of heartbreak.
It was because I had learned something:
Love isn't always about what you give.
Sometimes it's about what they take from you — even when you offer it freely.
So I stopped offering.
And the name "David"? That became my armour. My prison. The Listener. The friend. The fool.
...
Adrian (closing reflection)
He finished his story, not with tears, but with silence.