The lady of few words

Perhaps it was only my imagination. Perhaps she only lived in my head. I never met her. But I looked up to her. I don’t know why, and I don’t know who. But I know she was elegant, traditional, classic, raw, timeless..

Capable of so much — yet utterly modest. A soul that seemed to have walked this earth for decades, yet still living in a young body. She would visit my mind from time to time. And through her, I caught a glimpse of where I was meant to go.

I remember reading a book where the main character was a girl who did not talk much. I thought she was cool, I thought... I want to be her.

But without realizing it… I already was her. Without realizing it... life had already pressed its fingers to my voice.

The girl in that story was a high school student, just like me at the time. She only opened her mouth when she had something meaningful to say. And the rest of the time, she was silent. Silent — just like me.

“The lady of few words.” That’s what they called me because I hardly spoke. “Can she even talk?” some even wondered. There was a time when I had to relearn how to talk. But yes, I could talk at that time.

As if I had promised myself to always be like that girl from the book. To always be the quietest in the room. And it came effortlessly to me. I could count the words I spoke in a day on my hand.

But at times it was exhausting. Exhausting to finally say something after so long. Exhausting because I locked myself out of conversations. But also exhausting — not because my mouth barely moved, but because of the noise in my head.

There were too many voices in my mind, too many conversations, too many thoughts. I could give you a hundred answers, but they remained trapped in my throat. Not out of fear, but because I thought: “What’s the point? What do I ever add?”

My silence screamed for help. But no one heard them. I realized not everyone possesses the ability to listen to voices that do not speak. Because there is a voice that uses no words, listen carefully.

The quieter you become, the more you can hear. I learned to listen to what wasn’t being said. To glances, to energy, to words that were swallowed. I learned to listen to those who were invisible, just like I was.

I discovered that silence isn’t emptiness — it’s a language. A language for those who truly listen. People told me they don’t have a sixth sense, that they can’t sense how someone feels. But I think I do. I think I can.

Maybe I was her. Maybe I am her. Or maybe… I still need to become her. The one who speaks through silence and touches through language. A woman draped in elegance and mystery.

Her silence is gold, her words are rubies.

She carries a treasure, a secret wealth. Her actions whisper what others feel the need to shout. A soul that speaks more through deeds than through words, and when words are needed, she chooses them with the precision of a poet and the wisdom of a sage.

Her words are rare, but when she speaks, they carry heavy weight. She does not speak carelessly because she knows the power and vibration of language.

She is here. Not just in my imagination, but in the way I grow more mindful of my silences,

In the way I save my words as if they are priceless rubies,

In the way I learn to speak without a voice, and learn to hear conversations others do not dare to listen to.

She is the one. The one I long to be. And I hope that one day, when the time is right…

I will meet her.

In the mirror.