The ramen was a lot better than I expected. I should come here with Jay one day—when I get the courage to be able to leave my boundaries. My organs are enjoying the spice party; I think they’re partying a bit too hard.

We paid dutch for our meals. Wendy insisted on paying for mine, but I insisted on paying for my own; I don’t want to be indebted to someone. More than an hour had passed since we had entered the restaurant; it felt like I was in there the entire day. The sky was still blue.

“Is there anything else you want to do before we head back?” Wendy asked.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t want boba?”

The word ‘boba’ echoes in my head. The last time I had boba was when Eura had bought one for me a few years ago. It was the best tasting drink I had in my life. I loved the milkiness of the tea and how chewy the tapioca balls were. I want boba. I want it bad.

“I want boba…” I mutter.

“There’s a store nearby. Let’s go and get some then!”

Wendy might have used that excuse to spend more time with me, but I don’t mind as long as I get boba. The store is nearby, so we did not need to take a car; we walked the way there.

Each step I take, I feel an overwhelming fear accumulating within me. I quickly realize boba is in a store. That would mean I would have to interact with people. I remembered how I pointed at my menu when I was at the ramen shop. Fortunately, our seat was in an area where people did not care about how other diners were like. In a boba store, there were fewer tables and more people crowding the interior, waiting for their order. That would mean more eyes would be on me even if it was unintentional.

I know for a fact that the strangers around me would scrutinize my writing my order and it scares me. I’m familiar with Wendy; I can be at ease around her now. However, what would happen when I hear people gossip about me? How can I deal with people chuckling about how I am weird for carrying a sketchbook for writing and not drawing? Would I want to close myself to the world again? Would I step into my boundaries and never let myself out?

I’m scared. I really am.

Hastily getting out my sketchbook from my bag feels like survival instincts of sorts. I cannot be without it for it is my shield. Wendy furrows her eyebrows.

“You don’t need that.”

I shake my head in disagreement. How odd. I can respond to her normally by talking, but knowing that I am going inside a place far beyond my comfort zone, I become mute.

Wendy pouts as she grabs my hand and drags me into the store. Like I feared, there were a lot of people. Some were in line. Others were spread out on all directions. A few were taking and handing out orders. If hell were considered real, this would be mine. I feel myself trembling like my phone on vibrate mode.

“What flavor do you want?” Wendy asks me while we are in line. Her eyes fixate on the menu board above. Maybe I should focus my attention above as well; I wouldn’t have to look at people if I did that.

The boba I had before was mango-flavored, so I want mango. I write it down to show Wendy. “Mango…? Nice. I want taro. I’ll pay for the boba this time.”

I shake my head in disagreement again as I quickly write down that I want to pay. Wendy quickly gives up and lets me do what I want. As we wait for the line to advance, I hear someone behind me whispering.

“Did you see that? That guy was writing down stuff on his sketchbook. How weird is that? Is he mute?”

Another person whispers, “Is he born mute? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a mute before. How fascinating.”

My biggest fear just hit me like an arrow piercing its prey. I can see my childhood flashing through my eyes; all the sorrows and pain I had experienced in the past for being ‘different’ plays through in my head like a fast-forwarding movie.

I can feel myself sweating; I rarely sweat. Their words echo in my head. Am I really weird for being mute? Am I weird for carrying a sketchbook? Am I weird in general?

Wendy barks back at the gossipers. “Stop gossiping like old ladies, you bitches! So what if he’s mute? So what if he writes down in a sketchbook? He’s still a person. He’s just quiet and has an unusual habit. What if he’s just shy and not actually mute? Who are you to judge?” She points at them. “Would you like it if you were scrutinized like him?”

Wendy, thank you for defending me, but I can feel the stares of the other customers in our direction. It’s nerve wracking.

One of the girls remarks, “You’re just defending him because you’re his girlfriend. You’re just biased.”

“And look at you making another assumption about someone you barely know. Did I ever say I’m his girlfriend? Do you even know me? I don’t know shit about you. Do you want me to make assumptions about you?”

She leans closer to the girl. “Judging by your hair and outfit, you probably get around a lot? How many men do you fuck in a day?”

The girl contorts her face in disgust. “I’m not a slut.”

Wendy lets out a condescending tone. “Oh, you’re not? Sorry for the assumption. I thought you were.”

Her friend defends her. “Stop that. That’s going too far.”

I agree. There are other ways to defend me with words; trying to slut-shame an innocent person feels wrong.

Wendy scoffs and crosses her arms. “Then why don’t you stop gossiping and apologize to my friend over here? He’s had a rough life that lead to his quiet demeanor and quirky habits. He doesn’t like being called weird and you’ve hurt his feelings.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“How am I supposed to know that you aren’t horny?”

I grab her shoulder. Wendy is behaving like a feral cat right now. I know I’ll get hurt, but she needs to stop. “Stop that,” I whisper.

Wendy points to me. “See? He’s not mute! He’s a perfectly normal human being! And look! He’s defending you. So, you better apologize for your insensitivity or I’ll make the crowd scrutinize you.”

The girl grits her teeth. She looks at me and mutters, “I’m sorry…”

Wendy did not seem satisfied. “If you’re really sorry, why are you apologizing so quietly? Let it out!”

“I’m sorry, okay?” She then storms out of the store with her friend chasing after her.

The store becomes quiet; the people’s stares are drilling into us. I’m not sure how Wendy feels, but I want to go back home right now. I don’t want to be here anymore. The only reason we cannot leave right now is because we’re next in line to order.

This is the first time I’ve been to a boba store and I do not want to return.