Aarons POV:

I stared at the door. If I opened it, I would have to meet my roommate. If I didn't, everyone who passed me in the halls would see me. I guess I'll open it.

I opened the door. There was already a person there. He was taller than me-I'm only 5 foot 3. He looked up at me and opened his mouth. 

Holy shit when he opened his mouth it didn't stop.

"Alexander Hamilton. My name is Alexander Hamilton. I got a scholarship here and I'm studying to be a lawyer. I don't like to brag, but I'm already pretty great. Who are you?" he asks. 

I just smile at him and walk to my room, and begin unpacking. I pull out the only photo of my parents on their honeymoon, the one I should get rid of because it triggers my PTSD, but I can't. I gaze at my mother's long black hair, my father's dark skin. The flashbacks begin.

The memory of my father's death 

"Son. You have our legacy on your shoulders. Carry it with pride, get an education. And remember: Talk Less, Smile More." he whispered. I began to whimper. The wimmper escalated into a sob. I clung onto his hand tightly. and buried my face in his shirt

He smiled and didn't say anything except, "Son; Talk less, smile more." Before the light on his eyes went out, a silent smile still on his face.

I screamed and sobbed until I felt strong warm arms wrap around me. A voice whispered in my ear.

"Shhh shhh, it will be ok. Shhh. It's ok." The voice whispers. "It's me, Alexander. It will be ok." It's my new roommate. 

I realize I'm in my room, unpacking. My talkative roommate-Alexander-is rubbing circles on my back. I look up at him. He smiles back at me. 

"Hey, I never got your name." He said. I just shrugged. It didn't matter that much what my name is. "Do you mind telling me?" I shook my head. I signed.

'I'm Aaron Burr'

I could hear gears turning in his mind before he nods.

"If you don't mind Aaron, are you deaf or mute?" He asked.

He can understand sign language? Well I'll be damned. I sign back to him.

'Selectively mute' and he nods.

"If you have another moment like that, I will come to help you again, but if you're ok I have to go finish unpacking," he says, walking out of the room.

How could I be so stupid? I can't let anyone know about my PTSD and Anxiety. I'm a fucking idiot.

I take the picture of my parents and throw it out the window. I watch as it flutters down to the street two stories below. It lands at the feet of a man with poofy hair. He picks it up, shrugs, and pockets it. It's gone for good now.