You feel the of voices around you, but your throat is dry and silent. "," someone says nearby, smiling as if trying to break the tension in the room. You wish you could join the conversation, yet your lost voice traps your words inside. The common room smells faintly of coffee and old books, reminding you of the many schools you’ve travelled to. , this is the first time you cannot speak at a results day, and it feels strange, like a stone in your throat.
你感受到周围人声鼎沸，但喉咙却干涩无声。 “不管怎样，”附近有人说道，脸上带着笑容，仿佛想打破房间里的紧张气氛。 你希望你能加入对话，但失声的嗓子却将你的话语困在喉间。 公共休息室里弥漫着淡淡的咖啡和旧书的味道，让你想起你曾去过的许多学校。 事实上，这是你第一次在放榜日无法说话，感觉很奇怪，就像喉咙里卡了一块石头。
A teacher approaches, holding a paper with your name. “, the results are good,” she says with a warm look, but you see confusion in her eyes when she notices you do not answer. She means well, trying to you, but you can tell she thinks you don’t care. You want to explain that your silence is not coldness, but a mystery illness stole your voice. , without words, you can only smile weakly and nod, hoping she understands.
一位老师走过来，手里拿着一张写有你名字的纸。 “幸运的是，成绩很好，”她带着温暖的表情说道，但当她注意到你没有回答时，你看到了她眼中的困惑。 她本意是好的，想安慰你，但你能看出她认为你不在乎。 你想解释你的沉默并非冷漠，而是怪病偷走了你的声音。 不幸的是，没有言语，你只能虚弱地微笑点头，希望她能理解。
, as the bell rings and the crowd starts to move toward celebrations or complaints, a student gently touches your arm. "I know you’re upset," she whispers, "but the results don’t define you." Hearing kindness even without a voice feels like a small light in the dark room. You realize that anyway, even when you cannot speak, your presence and calm can help others. Maybe this silent moment accomplishes more than words ever could.
顺带一提，当铃声响起，人群开始涌向庆祝或抱怨的人群时，一位学生轻轻碰了碰你的胳膊。 “我知道你很难过，”她低声说，“但成绩并不能定义你。” 即使没有声音，听到善意也像黑暗房间里的一盏小灯。 你意识到，无论如何，即使你不能说话，你的存在和镇定也能帮助他人。 也许这个沉默的时刻比任何言语都能完成更多的事情。
