Quiet Minds

Quiet Minds

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing3h 14m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Fri, Apr 3, 2026
Noah lived an ordinary life behind a desk. He was just another face in the crowd, hiding an ability he never asked for and couldn't control. He kept his head down, avoided people, and never let anyone close enough to notice that he could read their thoughts. That is, until one rough day led him into the one place that would change his life forever: A bar. But it wasn't the bar that had him coming back. It was the bartender. Evan was calm, steady, and impossible to read. Literally. For reasons that Noah couldn't explain, Evan's mind was silent to him. It was both comforting and terrifying to Noah. Over drinks and late-night conversations, a quiet friendship formed. One that became the only steady thing in Noah's carefully hidden world. When an attempted kidnapping forces Noah to run, it's Evan who gets him out. He takes Noah to the Varients: a resistance group with a hidden base in the middle of nowhere where people get strong to protect those they care about. For Noah, it's a new reality. One where everyone is training to defend their home, and where abilities are a common attribute. But what started as survival quickly turns into something more. As secrets surface and tensions build, Noah finds himself drawn to Evan in ways he doesn't know how to handle. With a bond built from a quiet mind and trust, why couldn't love be a factor?
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A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.

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