As I walked my dog earlier, I passed two people arguing quietly at a bench. Not heated, more like they were trying to disagree without waking something fragile between them. I couldn’t hear the whole thing, but I caught one line as I passed: “That’s not what I meant — that’s just what you heard.” It stayed with me longer than it should have. Not because of them, but because of how often that line could be said in any direction, in any relationship, in any moment where the world mishears us. Write about a moment where meaning and hearing didn’t match.