Shatter-Me-PDF-Shatter-Me-Series-Shatter-Me-Shatter-Me-1-Tahereh-Mafi (1)

into a little ball. I shove it into a crack in the wall. I study the
pen in my palm. I know he’s staring at me.
“Are you writing a book?”
“No.” No I am not writing a book.
“Maybe you should.”
I turn to meet his eyes and regret it immediately. There are
less than 3 inches between us and I can’t move because my
body only knows how to freeze. Every muscle every
movement tightens, every vertebra in my spinal column is a
block of ice. I’m holding my breath and my eyes are wide,
locked, caught in the intensity of his gaze. I can’t look away.
I don’t know how to retreat.
Oh.
God.
His eyes.
I’ve been lying to myself, determined to deny the
impossible.
I know him I know him I know him I know him The boy who
does not remember me I used to know.
“They’re going to destroy the English language,” he says,
his voice careful, quiet.
I fight to catch my breath.
“They want to re-create everything,” he continues. “They
want to redesign everything. They want to destroy anything
that could’ve been the reason for our problems. They think
we need a new, universal language.” He drops his voice.
Drops his eyes. “They want to destroy everything. Every
language in history.”
“No.” My breath hitches. Spots cloud my vision.
“I know.”
“No.” This I did not know.
He looks up. “It’s good that you’re writing things down.
One day what you’re doing will be illegal.”
I’ve begun to shake. My body is suddenly fighting a
maelstrom of emotions, my brain plagued by the world I’m
losing and pained by this boy who does not remember me.