Echoes of Love

History

Louis' POV:

As I walked toward my first class, art, I felt my nerves spike again. I had hoped that being in a familiar space would make it easier, but everything still felt so foreign, even though the classroom hadn't changed at all. The smell of paint, the rows of sketchpads, and the scattered brushes were the same, but I wasn't. I was different, and I couldn't shake that feeling no matter how much I tried to blend in.

I sat down at the same table as last time, tucked into the corner where no one would notice me. My sketchbook sat in front of me, its pages blank. The noise of the classroom was a muted hum, not that I could hear it, but I could feel the vibrations. It was strange how my other senses were slowly trying to make up for what I lost. The way things felt, the way people moved—I noticed all of it now, more than I ever had before.

The teacher, Mrs. Taylor, came over and smiled at me. She had always been kind, and I hoped that hadn't changed. She handed me a piece of paper, her fingers brushing mine for a moment, probably trying to get my attention.

I looked down and saw that it was the assignment for today: self-portraits.

My heart sank. Out of all the things to draw, why did it have to be a self-portrait? How could I even begin to capture who I was now, when I didn't even recognize myself?

I picked up my pencil, my hand shaking slightly as I touched it to the paper. My lines were unsure, jagged at first. I started with the outline of my face, but the more I drew, the more distorted it became. My eyes looked wrong, hollow almost. I scratched them out with the eraser, frustrated.

I didn't know how much time passed, but when I looked up, Grace was sitting next to me again. She didn't say anything, just like before. She simply started working on her own portrait, her hands moving confidently over the page. There was something comforting about her silence. She wasn't staring at me, wasn't asking if I was okay—she just let me be.

I managed to finish the outline of my face before the bell rang, though it still didn't feel right. As I packed up my things, Grace gave me another small wave, and I nodded back, a little more comfortable with the routine this time.

When I stepped into the hallway, Harry was waiting for me just like before. He gave me one of his warm smiles, and it was enough to ease the tension I'd been carrying through art class. Without a word, he intertwined our hands and led me to our next class—history.

History had always been a subject I didn't mind, but walking into the classroom now felt different. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to keep up with everything. Even though Harry was here, the thought of missing out on details or not being able to follow the lesson made my chest tighten.

We found seats near the back, and Harry pulled out his notebook. He signed quickly before the teacher started, "I'll help you with the notes."

I nodded, grateful but still unsure of how this was going to work. The room began to fill up, and I could feel the weight of all the eyes on me. They were probably whispering about me again, wondering if I was broken, if I'd ever be the same. I wished I could tell them that I was still me, but sometimes, even I wasn't sure.

The teacher, Mr. Reeves, started talking, but of course, I couldn't hear a word. Harry's hand moved beside me, his fingers quick and precise as he signed everything the teacher was saying. It was fast, almost too fast, but I tried my best to follow along. Every now and then, I'd glance at the other students, all of them looking down at their notebooks, oblivious to how different my world had become.

Halfway through the lesson, I felt myself drifting. I stared at the chalkboard, watching the words being written, but they didn't mean much to me. The constant effort to lip-read, to catch Harry's signs, it was exhausting. I wasn't used to this level of concentration, and I realized how much I had taken for granted before.

Harry must have noticed because he gently nudged me under the desk. When I looked over, he smiled, his hand resting on my arm. "You're doing great," he signed. "Just a little longer."

I tried to focus again, but by the time the class ended, I felt completely drained. As we packed up to leave, I slumped a little, feeling defeated. It wasn't just the lesson that tired me out, it was everything—the constant reminder that nothing would ever be as easy as it had been.

Harry stood beside me, waiting patiently as I grabbed my things. We didn't need to sign anything to each other right now. He knew how I felt, and I knew he was there. That was enough.

As we stepped out into the hallway, I leaned into him a little more, grateful for his presence. This was only the beginning, and I wasn't sure how I was going to get through it all. But with Harry by my side, maybe—just maybe—I could figure it out.

One step at a time.